


The Glorious Misadventures of a Hunter & His Quarry

by glowingbutterfly



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Disorder, BDSM, Blood Kink, Canonical Character Death, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood Spoilers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi-Classed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Zenos yae Galvus Being an Asshole, Zenos yae Galvus Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 55,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26987026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowingbutterfly/pseuds/glowingbutterfly
Summary: A singular moment of hesitation brings destiny to its knees. Faced with the consequences of her own perceived failures at The Royal Menagerie, the Warrior of Light is forced to journey forth with her mortal enemy Zenos yae Galvus, desperate to understand why she spared him the fate of death. Whether they can continue to thwart fate is a different matter entirely.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light (Past), Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 58
Kudos: 156





	1. Descent

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [The Glorious Misadventures of a Hunter & His Quarry【译文】](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28910241) by [budingdoufu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/budingdoufu/pseuds/budingdoufu)



> ~CONTENT WARNING~  
> This story deals with themes including mental health, up to and including suicidal thoughts, unhealthy relationships, and dubious consent. Please be mindful of chapter notes - I'll note if there is anything particularly egregious that shows up. I will be adding tags as more of the story is written.
> 
> More than anything, these characters need some serious therapy. Please don't emulate their use of each other for such things.
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy! The title art piece was done by @HAPPYONGDAL on Twitter - they were fantastic to work with for the commission, so please give them your support. <3

Myraeda Palimpos, esteemed hero of Eorzea, Warrior of Light, and daughter of Hydaelyn, was a traitor. It seemed that way, at least, when she saw the faces of the chirurgeons that entered the simply furnished room at regular intervals. From a refusal to keep eye contact to outright hostile visages - a sideways glance here, whispered words outside the doorway there - she could clearly read the mood of all of Ala Mhigo.

“Why did you spare him? Why do you refuse to leave his side?”

Truthfully, she could not answer those questions for herself. Why, indeed, did she falter at the last moment? Had it been his offer to join him? No - it went deeper than that, deeper than a remark that generally lacked sincerity. After all, Zenos yae Galvus was not one to give credence to quiet hours with the woman he viewed as the only person able to rival his own strength. Words escaped her when she attempted to vocalize to the other Scions what, exactly, had gone awry at The Royal Menagerie.

All she could glean from her fragmented memories of the battle with Shinryu was that, at one critical moment, something in her broke. No, “broke” wasn’t the correct word... It felt as if all her prior determination to extinguish the threat to Gyr Abania and Doma both - the Garlean man-turned-primal - vanished within the aetherial space they clashed in. Was it...pity...? An impossible desire that maybe, _maybe_ , he would realize the folly of his actions if he would _just listen?_

The exact reasoning didn’t truly matter so much as the end result. A final jump into the heavens and subsequent dive not meeting the intended mark, her lance piercing just shy of the heart of the beast. The misstep allowed Shinryu to shake the Miqo’te dragoon off and release one final blast of corrupted aether before succumbing to his wounds.

And then they fell.

And as the air whooshed around her, the sky above a myriad of colors both fantastic and terrible, her world went dark.

While she never felt the final crash into the ground, she did remember briefly waking, pleading to her comrades.

_“Lyse… Alphinaud… I beg of you, don’t kill him, not yet… Please…”_

She had felt his presence beside her, so surprisingly close, and as she opened her eyes she glimpsed the form of Zenos, a man who did not bleed, did not show any weakness nor restraint in their previous encounters, bloodied beyond belief. Ornate armor that once gleamed in its brilliance had caved into itself, shards of crimson and obsidian scattered among the land around him. Torn cloth from his bustle fluttered to and fro, some scraps of red still soaring on the occasional gust of wind. Trails of crimson liquid ran from his forehead and his lips, blood beginning to pool underneath the Garlean. But after a few moments, her breath quickened in realization. He was _alive,_ breathing oh so quietly that it was barely perceptible. 

Finally, the Miqo’te brought her attention back to herself. In her haze, she realized she was very much in the same condition, raising a single hand in the air and watching as blood snaked its way down her arm. So much blood. So much pain from a single movement. She grimaced as she slowly brought her arm back down to her side. It was clear to her that multiple bones were shattered, her ribs barely allowing air into her lungs. Perhaps one was collapsed, punctured? Her legs did not respond to her mind begging them to move. Please move, _by the Twelve move_!

For the second time in her 25 summers, Myraeda was afraid to die.

But for whatever strange reason, the stronger impulse was to preserve the life within their broken, tattered vessels. She could hear footsteps on the cobblestone, two sets running to her aid. She raised her head as much as her body would allow her, a few ilms at the most. Lyse and Alphinaud.

It was clear that they didn’t expect the scene before them. Their Warrior of Light had proven time and time again in the past that she was infallible, taking on primals and dragons, a bloody _godslayer_. And yet, their hero, their sister-in-arms, was broken and dying in a field of flowers, the beast responsible uncannily still beside her.

“Myraeda, by the gods, _what_ _happened here?_ ” Lyse’s words were panicked as she knelt down beside the Miqo’te, brushing the woman’s purple strands out of her eyes. Her catlike pupils were dilated, out of focus, the dragoon barely holding onto consciousness as she attempted to focus on Lyse’s face.

“I… missed…” she let out a barely perceptible laugh before being wracked by a fit of coughing, red froth bubbling from her lips.

“You missed?! Of all the times…” Alphinaud had joined Lyse’s side, a hint of frustration in his voice attempting to hide the sinking feeling in his chest. _It cannot end like this, it absolutely cannot end in this manner!_ He grasped her hand gently, his face betraying the young Elezen’s true feelings.

“Don’t look at me like that, Alphinaud… I’ll be… just fine…” she managed a small smile. _‘A smile better suits a hero,’_ her brain echoed from somewhere far, far away.

“Bloody hells, do not say that unless you plan on keeping your promise.” Was that a tear she saw rolling down his face? She couldn’t be sure. His scholar’s tome raised, he began to channel healing aether into her, doing something, anything, to keep her alive.

“You certainly did a number on _him_ , though.” Lyse rose and approached the crown prince of Garlemald, lying only a few fulms away. The blonde paused for a moment before nudging him with her foot, first gently then violently, almost knocking him onto his side. No response other than perhaps a quickening of breath. It was difficult to tell in that monstrous armor that made him so imposing a figure. Crumpled in the flowers, however, he was a felled giant, his expression almost serene. “You did most of the work, Myraeda. Let us finish the fight in your stead. For gods’ sake, we should have been here earlier.” 

“No… please…” the dragoon’s voice was barely above a whisper, an utterance that was clearly painful to let out. The Scions looked at her like she had sprouted two heads.

“Just HOW badly did you knock your head into the ground? It’s finished, Myraeda. We’ve won. Ala Mhigo is finally, _finally_ free. This is all we have left to do!” Lyse’s voice rose with each syllable, the images of her fellow fallen Resistance members clear in her mind. She would not let their deaths be in vain.

“I know you would rather do the deed yourself after so many encounters, but please leave this to us. It would be wise to take this opportunity while we still can,” Alphinaud continued, backing up the red-clad woman’s words.

“Not like this… This isn’t…” With all the strength left in her, she crawled ever so slowly across the grass, her arms pulling her along, her legs motionless. Crushed petals of white and pink clung to her armor, a path of crimson following her in her wake. With one last movement, she managed to prop herself onto Zenos’s broken form, shielding him.

She begged. She pleaded. It didn’t feel _right!_ No matter how illogical the thoughts seemed to her, something felt off. It wasn’t time, not yet. As to why, she couldn’t say, even if she had the air still left in her lungs to explain. The feeling clawed its way out of her subconscious until it overwhelmed her. _Protect. Protect. Protect him, for now. The final battle is still yet to come._

Before she heard an answer, her vision clouded into darkness, a strange sort of calm settling over her. They would listen, she knew. No matter how much it pained them, they would listen to her pleas. After all, requests were such a rare occurrence from the selfless Miqo’te that consistently put the needs of Eorzea over her own desires. 

The last sensation she could feel before losing consciousness was her hand clutching the strands of the Garlean’s hair.


	2. A Room Heretofore Unknown

She awoke sometime later to hushed voices. The Miqo’te’s eyelids felt like lead, the rest of her body emanating a tingling numbness, feeling, yet unfeeling. Her ears twitched, attempting to decipher the sounds around her. They felt so many malms away...

_“Critical… barely… impaired functioning… unknown recovery… wait and see…”_

The voices were foreign to her. _Likely chirurgeons_ , her brain barely managing to put her thoughts into concrete words. It felt as though she was at the bottom of the Ruby Sea, swimming ever upward and yet never reaching the light flickering at the surface. And like the seas, she felt cold. Numb and a bone-chilling cold. 

“But it’s been a week!” she could hear a voice complaining.

“Calm yourself, Lyse. With the condition you found her in, I am surprised she is recovering as well as she is.” A voice of reason. Y’shtola?

“The victory cries, the singing, the excitement… She missed it all. Myraeda missed seeing everything we’ve worked so hard toward. She’s just been in this bed for so long, I…” The pain in Lyse’s voice was palpable.

“Everyone feels the same way, I assure you. Even if we are less vocal about our concerns.”

“Then why won’t you all _do something_?”

“We have done everything we can. You of all people should know that.”

“Even so, I…”

“Return to the palace, Lyse. I believe General Aldynn requested your presence.” Curt and to the point, Y’shtola dismissed her.

“Fine.” The blonde half stormed off, anger and concern burning inside her. How could she _not_ return to the infirmary at every possible free moment she had? Her friend was barely holding onto life. The Warrior of Light, unconscious and helpless! It was unfathomable, unconscionable, so very wrong! Beyond that, the proverbial behemoth in the room next door had not been broached by anyone within the Scions of the Seventh Dawn in days.

Zenos slumbered in very much the same condition, though partially through artificial means. Y’shtola, Krile, and Master Matoya had decided that keeping him sedated until Myraeda awoke was prudent. At least then they could have a proper discussion about his fate. But as the week went by, and the purple-haired Miqo’te showed no signs of awakening, fewer and fewer words were exchanged about the viceroy. It made sense, as they were trying to keep the Garlean prince’s survival as under wraps as possible. Unsurprisingly, however, rumors had begun trickling into the city, likely by chirurgeons with a propensity for gossip.

Between that and the concerns regarding Fordola’s eventual trial, the mood between the populace and the acting government was tense, to put it mildly.

Once Lyse had taken her leave, Y’shtola turned her attention toward the small figure beneath the blankets. Perching herself onto a small stool beside the bed, she slowly reached a hand out to her fellow Miqo’te, resting the back of it onto the dragoon’s forehead. 

_Still burning up, I see..._ she thought quietly to herself as she motioned toward an Ala Mhigan woman a few fulms away who was busy preparing various medicines. “If you could possibly bring a cold compress for her fever, that would be greatly appreciated.”

“Understood. One moment, please,” the Hyur responded, leaving the room briefly before returning with a reinforced cloth bag filled with ice. Placing it gently upon her head, the Scion returned to her ponderings briefly before noticing with sudden curiosity the twitching of the Warrior’s ears. She hesitated a moment - it could have just as easily been a flicker in the aether. Within moments the motion repeated itself.

“Myraeda, are you--” Y’shtola was interrupted by a small yet lengthy groan.

Grey-blue eyes finally managing to flutter open, the Warrior of Light directed her attention to her friend, giving her a sheepish smile. 

“May I… have some water?” Her voice was gravely from lack of use, wavering ever so slightly.

“Of course,” the white-haired Scion stood abruptly, crossing the length of the room to grab a pitcher. 

As the woman poured the liquid into a small glass, Myraeda took in her unfamiliar surroundings. Sunlight filtered into the room from a singular small window onto walls and a floor of stone, a brownish hue mixed within the gray of the building. Though sparsely furnished, a large red rug covered much of the flooring, interlocked geometric shapes scattered throughout the weave. Her bed was small but practical, white sheets splayed over her lithe form. She could make out a few small stains tinged with pink.

She was still in Ala Mhigo, it seemed.

After a moment, Y’shtola had returned, handing the cup over. The dragoon slowly sat up, muscles stiff and protesting from the effort, before taking it with both hands.

“How do you fare?” she questioned once Myraeda had downed a few sips.

 _Like shite,_ she cursed internally as she attempted to extend a leg. At least this time she could distantly feel her toes wiggle. “A touch worse than the first two times I faced that man, that’s for certain. What have the chirurgeons found out? And of more import... how long was I asleep?”

“Seven days have passed since the liberation of Ala Mhigo. It was unfortunate that you weren’t there to participate in the festivities. As for your condition…” Y’shtola hesitated a moment before continuing. “To speak plainly, I’m surprised that you weren’t asleep for longer. Hydaelyn’s blessing truly is a marvelous thing.”

“Another couple of weeks of sleep wouldn’t be unwelcomed, that’s for certain,” she gave a long yawn, stretching her arms. “It certainly _feels_ like I’ve broken everything possible.”

“That is honestly not too far off from the truth. Most of your ribs, a punctured lung… your tail was even split in three pieces. Needless to say, the chirurgeons have been working tirelessly.”

 _Well, THAT explains why I can’t feel my tail,_ the dragoon pondered before having a sudden flash of memory.

_Colors swimming in the sky. Pleading, pleading, please don’t let him die here. Not yet, not yet… Hair soft as silk, chest almost imperceptibly rising and falling. Why am I doing this? Why…? Scraps of cloth like falling feathers, joined by petals of pink and white. So much red, an impossible amount of red, red, red - my blood? My enemy’s? My friend’s…? Why do I--_

“...are you all right? Please, rest your head if you still feel disoriented. I speak for the other Scions when I say that our main priority is your full recovery.” Y’shtola cocked her head to the side, her concern evident in her expression.

Myraeda paused briefly before asking the question now at the very forefront of her mind. 

“No, I… Where is Zenos?”

Her fellow Scion’s eyes widened briefly before returning to her normal, taciturn expression. “We were meaning to have this discussion at a later time, but if your concern is that great… I will gather everyone to speak forthwith. Pray rest while I make the preparations.” At that, Y’shtola rose to her feet with haste, exiting the room without another word.

 _I knew the situation was grave, but…_ The remaining Miqo’te was left to her own thoughts as she awaited what she assumed would be a rather uncomfortable discussion indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first two chapters of this fic! To be honest, it's the first fanfiction I've written, so it was really nerve-wracking to post this in the wild.
> 
> I currently have 8 chapters so far written as of now. My current plan is to post two a week - one on Tuesday, one on Friday. Of course, this can change, so please be on the lookout in the notes!
> 
> Again, thank you for giving me a chance, and I'll see y'all next week~


	3. Delicate Discussions

“Everyone appears to be present. Let us begin.” Y’shtola took her place at the table as she spoke. All eyes in the basement turned to her, listening expectantly.

The room was rather cozy, the centerpiece a large, rectangular wooden table at which the Scions now convened. Tapestries adorned the walls bearing the crest of Ala Mhigo. Apparently this particular building had been used for clandestine meetings in the days of the monarchy, though it had fallen into disuse after the forced annexation by the Garlean Empire. Layers of dust still lingered in the room, a few spider webs clinging to crates haphazardly stored in corners.

_ Why did it have to be HERE, _ Myraeda grumbled internally. Her legs still weak from disuse, Alphinaud took it upon himself to wheel her to the building before she was unceremoniously carried down the stairs on Thancred’s back. It certainly wasn’t her finest moment.

“Myraeda seems to have survived with all her faculties intact, as you can well see. Injuries notwithstanding, the situation is not nearly as problematic as we feared,” the white-haired Miqo’te explained. “Is there anything you wish to elaborate on regarding your condition?”

“To be honest? I feel like shite. But… it certainly is good to be alive.” She laughed to herself, cringing after a moment as pain shot up from her ribs. The rest of the Scions couldn’t help but crack a small smile.

“It’s so wonderful to see you, Myra! I was so worried you would never wake.” Tataru, as usual, wore her feelings on her sleeve, tears pooling in her eyes.

“I would hope that you would have more faith in me, Tataru. You know I’m not nearly that easily killed.”

“I know that, but… You were asleep for such a long time.” The pink-clad Lalafell gave a small pout.

“You would be too if you had the everliving shite kicked out of you by a primal!” The dragoon let out another pained laugh. 

Thancred snorted at the outburst. “Certainly an uncharacteristic action of yours, among other occurrences that happened after your encounter with the viceroy. Lyse and Alphinaud divulged the details to us. Believe me when I say that Hien and Raubahn were less than pleased at the… position they found you in.”

Myraeda’s face immediately was flushed, unsure of how to respond.

“Ever one to get directly to the point, Thancred. ‘Tis passing strange the request you made of us.” Alphinaud rubbed his chin with his forefinger, deep in contemplation.

“The fact that she asked us to  _ spare  _ the madman responsible for all of this bloodshed, you mean?” Alisaie scoffed as she turned to her twin brother.

“I--” the purple-haired Miqo’te attempted to speak, but was immediately cut off.

“ _ Spare _ doesn’t even cut it!” Lyse’s infuriated tone had the entire table’s attention. “She continuously begged us for his life until she collapsed on that beast’s body, for gods’ sake! If I hadn’t seen it myself, I would have assumed everyone had gone mad. Shielding his body with yours… What in the seven hells were you thinking, Myraeda?” 

“Now, now, I know it’s difficult, but she only woke a few bells ago, and…” Tataru attempted to be the voice of reason, but to no avail.

“I believe it would be in everyone’s best interest if you explained yourself.” Y’shtola’s empty stare was even more unnerving than usual.

_ What can I even say? I don’t even understand it myself.  _ “There was a… strong, sudden compulsion. It’s difficult to explain… It was as if the words were thrust into my head.” Her anxiety peaked, feeling as if the entire room radiated with judgment, her courtroom trial in all but name. “Perhaps a side effect of the aetherial realm we clashed in?”

Krile, deep in thought, raised her head at those words. “A sudden... compulsion? As if it were a command?”

“I… am honestly not certain, Krile. It’s incredibly hard to vocalize; I wish I could explain myself in more detail. All I can really gather is that something didn’t feel… right. That it was not the end of the story, as it were. As if fate had... dictated another path.” The dragoon could not help but hesitate between sentences, still unsure.

“So in short, you had an instinctual need to allow Zenos to survive. Passing strange, indeed,” the Lalafellin scholar replied after a time. “Were there any other sensations that you experienced? Or was it the compulsion alone that was the impetus for your actions?”

“My memory from that time is still quite fragmented, but… I do believe the latter is the case.” Myraeda nodded, eyes darting around the table. The rest of the Scions still seemed rather dubious.

“Mayhap a product of Hydaelyn’s will,” Urianger, heretofore silent, voiced his musings.

“That may explain it. Y’shtola and I examined your aetherical signature as you slept. There did not appear to be any significant fluctuations, precluding the possibility of aether sickness clouding your judgment and abilities,” Krile agreed.

“As good an answer as any, I suppose,” Alphinaud sighed. “Though I would argue that this creates more questions than answers.”

“Indeed. This certainly creates a number of… complications,” Y’shtola reluctantly agreed.

“Have you been advised of the current state of Ala Mhigo, Myraeda?” Alphinaud inquired, hands folded in front of him.

“From my understanding, the liberation was successful. I was full glad to hear that from Y’shtola upon awakening. Other than that… I’ve not been informed of the details.”

“I believe it would make the most sense for Lyse to explain, considering her significant role in the matter,” the young Elezen replied. His eyes fell on the subject of his words.

The Ala Mhigan woman began with recounting the cheers of joy and how the entire populace sang the country’s hymn in the streets, how the celebrations continued until the morning and beyond. She spoke of how she was chosen as the de facto leader of the city state reborn, and how, due to a conflict of interest, she had renounced her membership with the Scions. The most pressing issue involved the institution of a representative government, especially when considering the various Ananta tribes. Details on that end were apparently still being hammered out. 

“And at that, we come to the matter at hand: the fates of both Fordola and Zenos,” Alphinaud said once Lyse had finished explaining the events of the prior week. “Having not one, but two, high profile prisoners of war apprehended has not been… agreeable to the populace.”

“Rather than give them a public trial, everyone would rather string their bodies up in the street,” Alisaie interrupted bluntly. “I can’t blame them, really.”

Y’shtola spoke up, “While Fordola’s survival was already known to the public, we had attempted to keep Zenos’s condition quiet until we had heard from you, Myraeda. As it stands, however-”

“It seems that a little bird decided to spread the news.” Thancred leaned back in his chair, his uncovered eye closed, arms crossed in consternation. “We’ve had several mobs in the street screaming for blood.”

“While we are attempting to keep the situation under control, it is only a matter of time before things boil over. Even with Raubahn’s frequent speeches to the crowds.” Alphinaud frowned.

“I don’t mind handling Fordola, but as for that Garlean  _ monster _ ,” Lyse began to explain, “it comes down to you, Myraeda. My people respect you and your decisions, but… I don’t know how much they will be able to take at this point. After so many years, they can’t help but vent their anger toward the man who has torn apart their families and caused them so much pain.”

Alisaie rolled her eyes. “An explanation to them beyond ‘the Mother Crystal works in mysterious ways’ would certainly be preferred.”

_ I understand that, but…  _ “If I could get an update on Zenos’s condition first, I would highly appreciate it. For all I know, the situation may resolve itself on its own with how...” 

_ Streams of crimson flowing around them. So much, so much, so- _

“He’s still unconscious by artificial means. Krile and Y’shtola’s doing, under Master Matoya’s direction. Lest you forget, that man has bested you twice before. His survival was never in question, particularly under the quick ministrations of our chirurgeons.” Thancred immediately shut down that line of thought. 

“Then-”

“What dost thou wish?” Urianger looked to the dragoon with what appeared to be a sympathetic smile.

“I would like to see him with my own eyes,” she answered without hesitation.

“And beyond that?” Y’shtola inquired.

“If… if you could lift whatever magicks you have used on him, I would very much like to speak with him. Precautions put in place, of course. I believe I may have a more concrete answer afterward.”

“Then it’s settled.” Thancred was the first to stand. “Let us adjourn here.”

_ Was that a look of disappointment he just gave me? I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, but… _

The group collectively rose following the Hyur, gathering what small amount of belongings they had carried with them. Myraeda, still unsteady on her feet, attempted to hobble toward the stairs.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Thancred lifted her bridal-style into his arms, her cheeks turning red beneath her facial markings.

_ Godsdammit, not again. _


	4. The Slumbering Hunter

The room was a mirrored version of her own; in fact, she realized after being wheeled inside that there was an adjoining door between the two. A convenience for chirurgeons working on multiple patients, she assumed, though her stomach dropped when she thought of just how _ close  _ they were as she had slept.

Alphinaud set her wheelchair at the head of the bed, then grabbed a stool from the corner of the room to sit beside her. It was almost reminiscent of Estinien’s recovery after separating him from Nidhogg all those moons ago. However, instead of hope and yearning, the young Elezen watched the unconscious Garlean with disdain.

The bed appeared slightly too small for the legatus’s form; an end table with a plush pillow sat at the foot of the bed to help support his feet. White sheets had been draped over him, his bandaged chest left uncovered. He wore robes matching those of the dragoon, though they appeared ill-fitted for his figure. Golden strands were splayed across the mattress around him, the chirurgeons neglecting to brush out the tangles in his hair. Linen covered his Garlean third eye, stained with whatever poultice had been administered to him. Eyes shut, he looked almost serene as his broad chest slowly rose and fell.

The fallen prince, broken and battered, all but neglected by the victorious.

While she took in the state of the man before her, a small glimmer of light caught Myraeda’s attention. Her eyes drifted to his throat. The culprit was nestled over the bandages, a red crystal set in a thick, obsidian choker resembling thorny vines at the base of his neck. Intricate roses were carved throughout the metal. 

_ Beautiful, yet deadly. How fitting,  _ the words came to her mind unbidden. She quietly shook her head.  _ What in the seven hells are you thinking, Myraeda? _

“The piece was fashioned by the Ananta, with Master Matoya providing the enchantment,” Alphinaud explained, watching his friend’s gaze shift up the bed. “Aside from the magicks elaborated on during the meeting, it serves the dual purpose of disrupting his aether. The device effectively suppresses his Resonant abilities and renders him into a weakened state. At least, that is the hope.” He shifted uncomfortably on his perch. “To put it plainly, we do not understand enough about this ‘borrowed Echo’ as of yet.”

“...So we won’t know for certain the device’s capabilities until he wakes, then,” she inferred from the Elezen’s words. “That’s certainly reassuring.”

“Believe me when I say that Y’shtola and Krile have been working tirelessly through their own injuries to ensure the success of this endeavor.”

“Gods help us if it fails. Even in his current state, the lives of the chirurgeons would be forfeit, not to say anything of whomever attempted to stop him...” the dragoon sighed, imagining the possible carnage. Blue eyes without feeling, a katana in hand dripping blood, drops plop, plop, plopping onto the cobblestone…

_ What poor sport. A pity, really...  _ She could hear his voice echoing in her head, full of disinterest.

“Indeed…” Alphinaud pursed his lips. “Which gives us the reason for a minor delay before lifting that portion of the enchantment. Y’shtola and Krile will arrive upon the morrow after finishing their final preparations.”

“That seems fair.” She nodded, eyes still locked on the blond in front of her. Even without the hulking armor, he certainly looked formidable.

“Shall we return to your present quarters, then?” The Elezen rose after a few moments.

“Actually, if you could leave the adjoining door open, I should be able to return on my own. Thank you for the offer.” Myraeda smiled. “I would like some time to think, if that is acceptable to you.”

“As you wish.” He tilted his head to the side, giving a questioning look before unlocking the door a few fulms away. “Pray allow me to prepare you something to eat before I take my leave.”

“I would appreciate it greatly, Alphinaud. Thank you.” Her stomach would have answered for her had she not quickly spoken up.

As she awaited his return, her fingers drummed on her thigh, cotton wrinkled and unwashed. Her scalp itched, an urge to scratch the fur behind her ears growing stronger by the minute.  _ Gods, I must smell horrid. _ A bath would need to be in order after she finished her meal, she decided.

_ And then what? _ It irked her to not have anything to do but wait. Patience was never her strong suit, and with the past couple of years consistently throwing one issue after another at the Scions, she had forgotten how to relax. While it would have been a welcome respite for just about anyone else, the Miqo’te was at a complete loss.

Whether out of a lack of options or a lack of desire to search for them, Myraeda found herself watching Zenos sleep. It was strange seeing this massive monster of a man in such a vulnerable position.  _ If someone truly wanted to, they could have strangled him by now,  _ she mused, beginning to absently play with the fur on her also admittedly itchy tail. For better or worse, feeling was returning to her extremities.

She thought back on her past encounters with the legatus. He was more powerful than any primal or dragon she had ever faced, so terrifyingly powerful, a true beast in all but name. Having been accustomed to overcoming every challenge thrown at her, their first battle at Rhalgr’s Reach had been an eye-opening experience. She had spent days afterward in her tent, or wherever was deemed acceptable as a resting place, replaying those moments over and over in her head. What missteps had she taken? Where had she gone wrong? Her eyes would be bleary in the morning, only sleeping once sheer exhaustion had overtaken her ruminations.

Doma had been only marginally better. It was there where she finally had captured a measure of his attention, as she recalled. Yet even then, if it had not been for the reinforcements, for the villagers of Namai having finally found their determination to fight back, the outcome would not have been in their favor. At least the encounter had provided proof to Hien that his people were finally ready for revolution.

She saw Zenos’s face for the first time that day. His emotionless blue eyes had fallen on her body, splayed across the ground, before he turned and walked away, the clang of his boots echoing in the distance. A second humiliation. She vowed that by the third time they met, she would meet his strength as equals. Sleepless nights became less about rumination and now involved sparring and the studying of tactics. She wished she had known where Estinien was then; bouncing ideas off the fellow dragoon’s head would certainly have been more productive than her efforts alone. She was honestly too embarrassed to ask anyone else.

_ How disappointed in me they must have been, watching their hero bested twice. I must have looked so godsdamned weak to them. I hate it. I hate how I feel losing to that Garlean son of a bitch! _

She focused now on the line of his jaw, his lashes, his prominent nose, and realized she had never seen him quite this close before. Perhaps in brief glimpses during their engagements, but even then her focus had been on dodging the swings of his sword and finding openings for her lance. There was simply no time, and now she felt as if she had all the time in the world.

All the time in the world to reflect on why, exactly, she had spared him, even if the Scions were currently content with blaming the situation on the Mother Crystal.

“...Myraeda, can you hear me? I have brought a meal for you. I hope it is sufficient to hold you into the night.” Alphinaud had been attempting to get her attention for quite a while before she finally looked at him. 

“Ahh! I’m so terribly sorry. Thank you for the meal, my friend. If you could leave it on the table behind me, that would be most appreciated.” She was clearly surprised at the sudden intrusion, having blocked everything else out as she was thinking. Tunnel vision was an unfortunate habit of hers that had persisted since childhood.

“Of course. Pray rest well tonight. I will see to you at dawn.” Thankfully the Elezen was used to her quirks after all of their time spent together. After setting the tray on the table, he made to exit the room.

“Wait, Alphinaud. ...Thank you...for everything. I mean it truly from the bottom of my heart.” She flashed a sincere smile, which was quickly returned to her.

“Always, my friend.”

Once she had finished her simple meal, a loaf of wheat bread and a light chicken-based soup, she rolled her wheelchair back to the viceroy’s bedside. Lost in her thoughts well past sunset, she only returned to her room once the chirurgeons began their nightly rounds. 

“If you could pour me a bath,” she asked sweetly, “if possible in my state, of course. I would like that very much.”

The Miqo’te spent the remainder of her time before bed finally washing the last of the grime from The Royal Menagerie out of her hair and fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone thus far for all the kudos and bookmarks! Seeing things like that make my heart swell in joy. <3
> 
> Next week things start to get exciting~


	5. Enchantment Unbound

“Krile, are you ready to begin?” Y’shtola questioned her fellow Scion, though she did not appear to be in any particular hurry. This was to be a delicate operation, after all. One that could end in tragedy if they were not suitably prepared for any possible consequences.

Thancred leaned against the far wall, arms crossed and expression unreadable. He had been brought in as a countermeasure for any particular issues that could arise, as their Warrior of Light was still far from being fit enough to restrain the legatus. Even then, another two or three bodies would have been preferred, if not for the secretive nature of this operation. Aside from a chirurgeon or two who had strong ties to the Scions already, no one outside of their clandestine meeting was to know about the man being conscious, and the others had been occupied by various tasks around the city.

Unsurprisingly, the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

“If you could allow me a few moments longer.” The Lalafell was clearly uncomfortable being around Zenos. Her experience in the man’s custody was still fresh in her mind, the pain of the experimental pods lingering even now. She took a few moments to regulate her breathing, then brought her attention back to the white-haired Miqo’te with renewed determination. “Let us finish this quickly before I change my mind.”

Thancred could be heard derisively laughing behind them. “If it were not for our  _ dear Warrior _ , I would suggest ending this here and now.”

Myraeda shot the man a glare. She still wasn’t sure if she preferred him before the ill-fated banquet in Ul’dah or afterward. 

“What, pray tell, will happen once the magicks are lifted?” she asked, the exact details still eluding her. While her passions included a voracious appetite for books, she had always had trouble with the particulars of magicks, preferring historical texts and folklore. 

“He will awaken in due time. Whether immediately or a few days from now, however, we cannot be certain of.” Y’shtola looked off into the distance. “Until then, however, we will need to take the utmost caution.”

“Once the process is complete, we will monitor the nature of his aether. The Resonant may cause… difficulties with our observations, but if our device works as intended, we will know,” Krile said, her fingers brushing the Sharlayan goggles on her forehead. “If anything, this should provide us with ample research opportunities.” 

“Then, let us begin. Krile, if you would.” She motioned toward the Lalafell, who closed her eyes and raised her arms over the Garlean’s chest. Balancing on a borrowed chair, she began to channel aether, tendrils of green light brightening up the room. The white-haired Miqo’te then followed suit, her fingers glowing with the effort.

Myraeda watched from the end of the bed as the aether surrounded the gem at the man’s neck, slowly flowing into the crystal. The dance of light reflected shadows onto the walls, undulating waves reminiscent of those of the ocean. Crimson began to mingle with green, the choker glowing as aether began to seep out of the lone crystal. And as quickly as it began, the colors vanished, leaving the room silent and perhaps a touch cooler.

A sharp intake of air and a quiet sigh. The Scions watched with bated breath as Zenos’s eyelids twitched. However, after several agonizingly long moments, his breathing slowed, returning to the steady rhythm of sleep.

“That was certainly… anticlimactic,” Thancred broke the silence after a time.

“Aye,” the dragoon agreed, watching while Y’shtola and Krile began to take stock of the situation. “How does he fare?”

The Lalafell had donned her goggles, paying particular attention to the legatus’s neck and chest. “I’m not noticing any particular abnormalities outside of our prior calculations.”

“Before we originally completed the device, I spoke to Cid for a time. As he is the only Garlean we have relatively easy access to for baseline measurements, I asked for his consent to an evaluation. Considering the race’s unique inability to wield magicks, we needed a proper comparison,” the white-haired Miqo’te explained, Myraeda listening intently.

“While we would have preferred to have more data on the subject, time was just too limited. Between Lucia being busy aiding the Lord Commander and Nero, well… being Nero, this was our only option,” Krile sighed. “Not that I would have liked to have enlisted the help of Nero as is.”

Myraeda chuckled at that.  _ Nero certainly is a… character.  _

“Even so, it appears that our research was sufficient. Compared to how he was before Master Matoya’s handiwork, his aetherical signature is now much more akin to our example of a Garlean of relatively normal abilities. To speak plainly, The Resonant appears to be suppressed for now. As for his physical capabilities… While we won’t know for certain until he awakens, the very fact that one aspect of the magicks functions as intended most likely means the other shall as well,” the Lalafell continued, hand raised to her chin in thought. She hopped down from her chair, joining Myraeda at the end of the bed.

“Regardless, I would exercise the utmost caution until we can confirm our observations. Even under the best of circumstances, he will still be quite formidable,” Y’shtola warned. “Thancred, if I may make a request of your time, I believe you would currently be the most suitable individual to keep him under watch.”

“As the lady wishes,” he sighed in response. “Provided you allow me the discretion to subdue him in whatever manner I deem suitable for the circumstances.”

“Whatever you decide, he probably deserves it.” Krile was clearly amused at whatever mental image she had conjured.

“Unfortunately, we are needed elsewhere. As it stands, we still have a number of Resistance fighters that are in need of medical attention.” The white-haired Miqo’te made for the door, her small companion following. “Pray keep us updated as necessary.” 

“Aye, that I will.” Once the women were on their way and the echo of footsteps in the hallway faded, the Hyur rose and approached Myraeda, borrowing the chair that the Lalafell had neglected to return.

“You may have the rest of our comrades convinced of Hydaelyn’s involvement in this mummery, but I am no fool.” The man’s face darkened. “Tell me, what truly is your aim with  _ this _ ?” He motioned to his side, palm in the air.

“I…” The dragoon was at a loss for words, the sudden interrogation unexpected. “It is as I told everyone yesterday. I have left no detail unsaid, I promise you.”

“Then tell me why I shouldn’t take a knife to his throat right now.”

Her face blanched, pulse quickening. “I… I… Thancred, please, I…”

“You  _ what _ ? Do you pity this monster?”

_ Say something, say something, anything!  _ “Pity isn’t the right word…”

“Then what is, Myraeda?” he spat. “What the everliving  _ fuck _ are you thinking?”

She cringed at the curse. “It… doesn’t feel right. At least, not yet…” her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Please allow me this one indulgence. When was the last time I asked for something?”

“I can certainly think of one instance - your fiasco of a relationship with one Lord Haurchefant Greystone. And we all know how  _ that ended _ .” His voice lacked any hint of sympathy. “Pray forgive me if I have little confidence in your personal decisions.”

At that moment, she felt something snap deep within her. She forced her body to stand, wobbled a few steps in front of her, and used what she had left of her strength to slap the man. 

“Never fucking mention his name in front of me again. How  _ dare  _ you weaponize his death against me! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU.” 

Thancred’s hand rose to his quickly reddening cheek. “It appears I’ve hit a nerve.”

“The understatement of the 7th Astral Era.” Her catlike eyes held a visceral rage, so potent that it might well have been Nidhogg’s instead.

The man took a few moments to respond, taken aback by such an uncharacteristic show of force. “I will leave the matter to the rest of the Scions, and will fulfill Y’shtola’s request. However, be forewarned that I will have you under my surveillance along with our  _ dear legatus _ .” At that he stood. “I will request your breakfast to be served to you. The rest of the time is your own.”

Myraeda watched as he opened the door, ears still flattened to her head.

“Oh, and don’t do anything rash.” The door closed at that final statement, leaving the two patients alone in the infirmary.

She let out a deep breath, still shaking from her fury. Such outbursts were a rare occurrence from her; in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she was that outwardly furious at someone. Following her teen years she had habitually kept those feelings to herself, the anger only truly burning in her nightmares.

_ ‘A smile better suits a hero.’ _

She felt a tear stream down her cheek. Her lover’s last words always seemed to echo in her head at the worst time possible.  _ My dear Haurchefant, how can you expect me to smile even now?  _ She shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts.  _ Not now, not now… _

If only Thancred hadn’t attempted to open that can of sandworms. 

Attempting to distract herself from her rapidly darkening thoughts, she returned to her wheelchair, rolling it closer to the head of the bed. She needed to stay in the here and now, not in the abyss of the past.

She spent the next several bells reading a book on Ala Mhigan history, a chirurgeon bringing her a stack of tomes following her meal. She had requested anything they had on hand, anything to keep her mind busy. As sparring was out of the question, it was one of the few outlets she had left.

Rather than return to her room, she had elected to stay within Zenos’s throughout the day, much to the chagrin of her caretakers. She claimed that it was her responsibility, that because the situation was due to her actions, she should be there. With a bit of convincing, she began to aid the chirurgeons with their tasks, helping in their creation of poultices and various other medicines. Her extensive reading on botany in her younger years was one of the more useful things she had done as a teen, she decided.

Anything and everything to keep her busy, she welcomed. 

* * *

It was two days into her vigil when she decided to leave her room in the dead of night. She quietly unlocked the adjoining door, opening it a fraction of an ilm. No sign of Thancred inside, for now.  _ Excellent. _

She slipped in quietly, her stool still at the head of the bed. Her legs were finally becoming strong enough to walk again, albeit slowly. It felt nice to finally eschew her wheelchair.

What normally she would have considered inappropriate behavior no longer mattered to her. Earlier in the afternoon, she had heard the chirurgeons whispering outside her door.

“She watches tha’ bastard like some sorta sad kitten _.  _ Bloody disgusting, is what it is.” It was the deep voice of a Roegadyn man.

“Truly appalling, really. She’s lost her damn mind.” This time, a woman’s voice barely registered through the wood.

“If tha’ rest of Ala Mhigo knew the truth, they’d want her head on a pike.”

“You think so? Even with her instrumental role in the liberation?”

“A traitor’s a traitor. You’ve seen tha’ mobs, haven’t ya? They’re out for Garlean blood.”

“And you don’t think we’d end up being treated the same way?” the woman asked, her tone concerned.

“Nah, we can blame the others. Say we were coerced into it. Hell, we’d be hailed as heroes if we broke tha’ news.”

“Shh. If any of the Scions heard you…”

The words faded, impossible to make out. Myraeda’s book had fallen to the floor, her hands clutching at the blankets, knuckles white.  _ Is this how everyone sees me now? One decision, and I’m slandered and thrown away like a broken toy? How fickle the masses are.  _ Tears soaked into the fabric beneath her.

_ A traitor. I’m a traitor. A traitor for following my instincts, my desires, for once in my life. Anything I want to do for myself is a fucking mistake. Gods damn it all to hell. _

In the throws of her emotions, she decided that all propriety was out the window.  _ Let them think whatever they’d like. They won’t change their minds once they’ve made them up on a subject such as this. _

Now she sat in front of her mistake, the moonlight filtering in through the window and illuminating his face. Zenos yae Galvus. The beast that she had deemed worthy enough to live.

She scoffed at herself, hated herself for deviating from her course. He should be dead. Dead. Dead by her own hand. The hunter should have been the hunted.

She found herself rising, climbing into the bed, her legs straddling his chest. Her arms reached out, fingers curling around his neck, and squeezed.

Icy hands clamped around her wrists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, beautiful~
> 
> Also, Thancred totally deserved that. "Thancred deserves it" might end up coming up a couple more times way later on. >_>;;


	6. Awake at Last

“Ahh… _you_ ,” Zenos breathed, almost a purr. Bloodshot eyes shot open, the vibrant blue boring a hole into her skull. He loosened the pressure of her fingers, though he allowed her hands to remain on his throat. “Such _hatred_ in your eyes, such tenacity.” His chapped lips curled into a smirk. “Do you yearn for blood, my beast?”

The Miqo’te’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth going dry.

“How does it feel to have your fingers curled around my throat, _oh hero_ ? To squeeze until I writhe underneath you, until my very body goes still and my breath fades. That is your desire, is it not?” His grip slackened. “ _Claim it_.”

She hesitated a moment, unsure if she had heard him correctly, before pressing her fingers down once more. One of the thorns from the choker tore into her skin, droplets of blood trickling down her palm. The legatus’s expression didn’t waver; in fact, he seemed to be _enjoying_ himself. 

_This isn’t…_ The compulsion had returned, screaming in her ears. _Protect. Protect. Protect._

Her hands fell to her sides.

“A pity,” he sighed, fingers gliding along the indentations in his neck. Slick with blood, he took his forefinger to his lips, the digit slipping into his mouth.

Myraeda froze in place, unable to react.

“A feast fit for kings. Shall we continue from where we left off?” Even in the dim lighting, Zenos’s eyes reflected an unrivaled ferocity.

She scrambled off his body and onto the floor, unceremoniously falling into a heap.

“Now you deem to show cowardice before me? Or…would you rather adjourn until we can face one another at full strength?” He paused, musing. “Yes… This struggle lacks the proper sport. I would very much prefer to bide our time until the right moment arises.”

She sighed in relief. _This is too much, too much…_

The door slammed open then, Thancred rushing into the room.

“I leave for a few moments, and this is the mess I return to,” he said gruffly, closing the distance between the door and the bed. He jerked Zenos’s wrists toward him.

“This is one of your dear comrades, yes?” the legatus questioned calmly, evidently disinterested. He moved to shake off the Scion’s hands, throwing them off momentarily before subsequently being detained once more.

Thancred took the brief opening to slip a pair of cuffs over the man’s wrists, clamping them in place with a pleased grunt. “There. Stop causing trouble before I decide to snap your wrists as well.”

Zenos kicked him squarely in the stomach.

He was only briefly on the ground beside the Miqo’te before pushing himself back up. “Hah… Where is that lauded power of yours? Don’t tell me you’re holding back,” he coughed.

The legatus threw his legs over the bed, rising. He moved forward a couple of steps before collapsing onto his knees. It took only moments for a small chuckle to turn into a roar of laughter.

“Ah, what a curious feeling,” he spoke after a time. “This weakness, this pain… Oh, how _long_ it’s been.” 

The two Scions looked at him blankly.

“A product of the battle, perhaps? The merging with the eikon? Or…” His arms rose to his neck. “Hmm, what might _this_ be...?”

Thancred snorted. “Shackles fit for a beast.”

Zenos thumbed the inset crystal, fingers grazing across the metalwork around it. “Most interesting. Did one of your savages fashion this?”

“A necessary precaution. Be thankful that you yet survive.” The Hyur glanced to Myraeda. “You have that one to thank for your life.”

Still sitting upon the floor, she refused to look either man in the eye.

“Most interesting, indeed…” the Garlean mused. “An unexpected intermission. Were you not satisfied with the glorious end I had envisioned?”

“No, I…” she muttered to the ground, hands playing with the fabric of her robes. Small beads of crimson soaked into the white cotton where she touched.

“Did I not tell you to avoid doing anything rash?” Thancred kneeled, grabbing at her arm and examining the wounds on her hand. “Any additional conversation can wait until the morn.” He helped her to her feet, grabbing a discarded roll of linen from the table and carefully wrapping it around the injury. 

“As for _you_ ,” he turned to the other man, still on his knees, “you will not be leaving my sight again. To bed with you.” 

* * *

Dawn came and went, as did a number of the Scions. They had arrived at Thancred’s linkshell request, having been given the anxiously awaited news. Zenos yae Galvus had awakened, with no casualties as a result.

He was surprisingly compliant as Y’shtola and Krile examined him, Thancred glaring at him all the while. Bandages were unraveled, the remaining wounds disinfected and poultice reapplied. Derisive comments about savages and their primitive medicine were promptly ignored.

Myraeda watched on all the while, one of the chirurgeons working on her tail, occasionally asking the Miqo’te to flex it here and there. She had always healed rather quickly, perhaps unnaturally so, and she could feel her strength already beginning to return after having been at the brink of death. The Garlean seemed to react similarly to injury in spite of the enchantment that had been placed upon him.

She found it a bit unnerving how fascinated he was with his condition. She knew that, at full power, he bordered on indestructible, a mountain of a man who had previously had no equal. Much to his dismay, from her understanding. Now, he would watch curiously as the linen was rewrapped around fading hues of purple and blue. The bruises had already begun to blossom into shades of yellow.

She wondered how much of the pain he actually felt, as the chirurgeons refused to give him anything to soothe it.

Most disconcerting, however, was when his attention turned toward her. He was silent, his gaze unwavering, time feeling as if at a standstill whenever he decided that she was more interesting than the commotion around him. The dragoon couldn’t help but shy away from his eyes, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. The thought of dashing out of the room was becoming more tempting by the minute. 

_Why me...?_ It was the refrain of her entire adult life.

Night fell, and the ward had finally fallen silent. She was alone in her chambers, brush in hand as she finally worked the last of the knots out of her short-cropped hair. Her skin glistened with the remnants of her bath. Finally, she had been given leave to remove some of the bandaging, her arms now free. The scars were starkly red against her pale skin, adding to the various faded markings left from her previous mishaps. She could no longer remember which one came from where.

Once she had finished, she leaned against the headboard, humming to herself. She pondered lighting a candle to continue her deep dive into Ala Mhigan history and politics, but thought better of it after a moment. Sleep came easily to her these days, too easily, and risking a fire if she dozed off seemed less than ideal.

Her mind wandered, becoming increasingly aware of the wall behind her. A single wall of separation between her and her enemy, mere ilms of stone between her headboard and his. The Miqo’te wondered if he had heard her, suddenly becoming self-conscious of any sounds she made. Staring at the ceiling, she fiddled with the brush that she had cast to the side.

A thought rose unbidden from her mind, cheeks rosy from the idea. She crawled out from under the covers, brush in hand, and approached the adjoining door. She hesitated for a moment before knocking.

No response. She attempted two more knocks, waiting for an indication that it was safe to enter. Once again, nothing. She turned around, giving up on the ordeal.

“A nightly visitor. Are you here to alleviate my boredom?” Zenos’s voice echoed from the other room. “You are free to enter.”

Her ears twitched at his words. Back at the door, hand on the knob, she took a deep breath before entering the other room.

The Garlean sat upright, robe draped over his shoulders, staring off into the distance. A candle was burning on the bedside table, a book lying discarded beside it. She absentmindedly wondered how he managed reading it with his wrists bound.

She took tentative steps toward him, surveying the room all the while.

“Where is Thancred?” she asked, puzzled.

“Your savage friend with the eyepatch? Off chasing rats, I would imagine. He mentioned a few choice threats before leaving,” the man stated nonchalantly. “Your Scions seem to have chosen a poor choice of guard.”

“You would be surprised.” She chuckled. “He has his ways of knowing things.”

“That is of little concern to me. Your presence, however, is most interesting.” Zenos turned to her then, giving the dragoon a predatory smile. “Tell me, my enemy, why have you decided upon a visit at this late an hour without a chaperone to protect you?”

“I need little protection from a shackled fiend.” She frowned. “Especially one that smells like shite. Have they not allowed you to at least wash your face?”

The legatus snorted. “You expected that sort of mercy? They care little to give such luxuries to the architects of their suffering.”

“Well, I for one would prefer for the stank of blood and bodily odor to quit wafting into my bedchambers.” Myraeda closed the distance between her and the bed, taking a moment to survey him. “Another couple of days, and the tangles in your hair will have knotted beyond saving. Unfortunate.”

“Does it not please you to see your foe in such a state?”

“I was never one to enjoy such humiliations,” she replied, her eyes wandering over the neglected strands. “Scoot forward and stay absolutely still.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. The chronometer on the wall ticked in the quiet of the night for several seconds before he followed her instructions.

She climbed into the bed behind him, heart attempting to burst out of her chest. Rising to her knees, she took the ends of his golden hair into her fingers and began to work her brush through them. Silence took ahold of the chambers, minutes passing by as she gently unraveled the tangles.

“You are awfully quiet. Should I be concerned?” the Miqo’te said after a time.

“You are, very literally, in bed with your enemy. That should concern you more than my silence, I would think,” he replied sardonically.

“I had just assumed that all Garleans enjoyed the sound of their own voice.” She shrugged.

“And what, pray tell, gave you that notion?”

“Hmm… I quite clearly recall Gaius van Baelsar going on and on about his vision for Eorzea. Nero explained his inferiority complex in extensive detail before we fought… Cid is rather fond of his lengthy explanations of magitek…” She paused, working through a particularly stubborn knot. “Ahh! You in particular seemed quite pleased with yourself when you finally deemed me ‘worthy prey for the hunt’ and decided to show off your new primal toy.”

Zenos did not respond.

Halfway up from his now smoothed ends, her brush hit a snag in an especially nasty nest of hair. She tugged with more force than she had intended, attempting to make some sort of progress.

“Do you truly wish for me to speak that much?” The man hissed under his breath. “It appears that you rather like the sound of Garleans prattling on and on.”

Scoffing, she tugged harder, almost pulling his head backward.

More time passed, and she had finally reached the roots of his hair. Myraeda grumbled under her breath.

“You really do have _too much hair_. How do you even handle this during combat?” she sighed.

“I manage.” Flakes of dried blood fell from his scalp, fluttering like carmine snow onto the sheets. 

Satisfied with her work from the back, she moved to his right, taking the locks from the side of his head in hand. His eyes were closed, she noted, expression neutral as she continued onward. It was eerie just how calm he was.

“Are you falling asleep?” she asked carefully, cocking her head to the side.

“An unfamiliar feeling…” he mused to himself under his breath.

“Zenos?” She was in front of him now, giving him an inquisitive look.

His eyes opened lazily. “Are you quite done?”

“In a moment,” she replied, now on his other side. Her hands deftly worked through the rest of the strands, bringing some sort of order back to his hair after a couple of minutes. “There. I suggest you pour a bath before Thancred returns from whatever task has occupied his time.” 

The Garlean rose, giving her one last look before opening the door to the hallway.

_Why did I…?_ Her thoughts were muddled as she left for her own chambers, head pounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thancred really needs to learn how to be a better guard.


	7. The Coming Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Graphic use of gendered language.

“I had heard from the others that you were enormous, but almost eight fulms? Seven hells, the amount of fabric I’ll need…” Tataru puffed her cheeks in annoyance. She was precariously perched on a ladder with a measuring tape, Myraeda holding it steady.

“To be fair, Tataru, everyone is enormous to you.” She laughed, the Lalafell throwing her a glare.

“Myra dear, the tips of your ears barely reach his navel,” she countered.

Y’shtola and Alisaie gave each other an amused look. They were situated toward the back of the room, supervising the endeavor. In order to take proper measurements, the Scions had been forced to remove the shackles on his wrists. As Thancred was busy “sniffing out rats”, as he had so delicately put it, the job fell to the two women to ensure the safety of all involved.

For now, however, the Garlean followed the seamstress’s instructions. From what they could gather, properly fitting garments were of more import to him than attempting to dispatch the others in the room. While his boredom was clear from his features, it was quite obvious that he was accustomed to the process.

“Will the sentient popoto stop squealing into my ear? I am growing quite tired of this,” Zenos spoke derisively, stretching out an arm for the next measurement.

“Sentient… popoto…” The dragoon couldn’t help but to burst into a fit of giggles.

“Please don’t encourage him!” Tataru whined, sparking more chuckling from the Scions across the room.

“Take care, she might just bite your ear off,” Alisaie spoke up, arms crossed and a smirk growing.

“I would like to see her try,” the legatus shot back.

Myraeda lived for these moments, these snapshots of time where she could see the carefree jesting of her friends. Even with their foe in the room, they had managed to relax just enough to show their true colors. The last few months in Doma and Ala Mhigo left such little time for light-hearted conversation. Such little time to enjoy what truly made her love being part of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

The disappointment she had seen in their faces upon her awakening had broken her even more so due to that. Even now, she wondered what feelings they may be harboring to themselves, what discussions they had held behind closed doors about her decisions. Though she kept smiling all the while, every time she met with one of them her heart dropped.

_Have I ruined it all? Ruined the only family I’ve had since…_

Since the Calamity.

“Myra? Are you there?” 

The dragoon’s head snapped back up at Tataru’s voice, the Lalafell the only Scion who used that nickname. _Seven hells. I must have been too absorbed in my thoughts again._

“Yes, I apologize! Would you like my help with something?”

“If you could be a dear and possibly read a few measurements out for me.” She grinned as she lowered herself a couple of steps. 

“Certainly! As long as you direct me, I should have no problem doing so.” _I’m imagining that mischievous sparkle in her eyes, right?_

The Lalafell handed her the tape. “Then pray take his inseam and hip measurements, if you could.”

“Aye, that I can… Wait. Tataru, you cannot seriously be asking me to…” Flustered and tripping over her words, she waved her hands back and forth at her friend.

“But Myra… It would be most difficult to take them myself, and it needs to be done.” Somehow her grin was still growing.

Zenos fixed his gaze down at the two women below him. “Get on with it,” he stated flatly, clearly unamused by their banter.

 _Godsdammit, Tataru._

Tape in hand, the Miqo’te hesitated before beginning at the widest section of his hips, holding it steady as she wrapped it around him. Her cheeks flushed as she adjusted the tool, hand briefly brushing his rear. “Is this correct?”

“Thank you, sweetie!” She took another step downward, glancing at the numbers. “Oh my. This is certainly… _larger_ than I expected.”

Her ears twitched as she attempted to keep from screaming at her shameless friend out of mortification. She proceeded with the inseam with haste, her face burning with the intensity of Ifrit’s fire, fingers visibly trembling as she stretched the length of the tape down his inner thigh.

The Lalafell was getting an earful of expletives thrown at her at her earliest convenience.

Myraeda took the soonest possible opportunity to join the supervising Scions, breathing a sigh of relief once she stood beside Alisaie.

“Do you think popotoes are better baked or fried?” she whispered to the Elezen.

“You are terrible.” She held back the brunt of her laughter, glancing to Y’shtola beside her, who was now looking at the other two women with piqued interest.

The purple-haired Miqo’te was about to direct the subject away from her humiliation when the door to the infirmary slammed open, Lyse a blur of red as she rushed in.

“We have a situation,” the Hyur spoke between pants for air. “Raubahn is doing all he can to placate them, but it’s not nearly enough and…”

“Calm yourself, Lyse,” Y’shtola was firm, but not harsh in tone. “Start from the beginning.”

“Were there time…” She allowed herself a few moments to catch her breath. “It would be easier to just see for yourself.” She snuck in a glare at the Garlean before bidding the Scions to follow her.

The newly appointed leader of Ala Mhigo led the group of women to the entrance of the building. As they traversed down the hallway, muffled, indeterminate voices from outside grew steadily louder. Steeling herself from behind the door, she pushed it open.

The evening sun brought out the red undertones of the stone structures surrounding them, the air still sizzling from the heat of the day. Trailing down the various alleyways that intersected in front of them was a mob of Ala Mhigans, the group still appearing to grow in size. While most of them wore the ragged linens of their subjugation, others were in Resistance uniforms, brandishing weapons ranging from rocks to greatswords. All bore a look of hatred that had been kindled for 25 summers.

Raubahn was situated a few fulms away from the threshold of the building Myraeda had spent the last couple of weeks inside of. He stood upon a crate, lifted above the crowd, his remaining arm outstretched as he addressed the people surrounding him. While his voice was yet strong, it held a hint of hoarseness.

“People of Ala Mhigo, my friends, I implore you to reconsider your intentions. Do not prove yourself to be the savages that the Garleans insist we are,” the General’s voice echoed throughout the streets.

“Quit yer yabberin’!” a shout rose from the crowd. “I may ‘ave thought well of ye before, but aidin’ the likes o’ ‘ _im_ …” 

“The Bull of Ala Mhigo proves himself soft!” a woman cried out somewhere in the distance.

“Aye, and the Scions besides! I say they let us drag that swivin’ whoreson out ‘ere for us to judge!”

The group grew raucous and chaotic, a torrent of rage with no outlet. Tens of bodies grew to what seemed like hundreds, desperate to enact their revenge on the figurehead that embodied their long-endured misery.

“Look behind ‘im! It’s the bitch ‘erself!”

Countless eyes fixed upon Myraeda, her mind doing its utmost to hold her body back from the instinctual need to fight her way out. In her wrinkled medical robes she felt naked, her only protection her friends surrounding her. Nails digging into her palm, she turned toward Y’shtola, her expression pleading for advice.

“Be strong,” was all that the other Miqo’te could offer. As they were neither Garlean nor fiend, holding back and enduring the angered onslaught while the more diplomatically inclined handled the issue was their most prudent option.

“The bleedin’ Warrior o' Light turns out to be a traitorous whore! Is Garlean cock worth more to ye than all o' fuckin’ Eorzea?” a haggard man close to the front spat at her.

Her eyes went wide, her mouth agape. _They think that I…?_

“Hero, my bloody arse!”

“Filthy Coeurl!”

“Swivin’ cunt!”

The cacophony of curses continued to grow, voices becoming almost indistinguishable from one another. That dreaded word, however, rose above all else, the one that felt as a knife driven into her breast.

_Traitor._

The mob became a blur of color, her ears roaring. A scene torn straight from her nightmares, awash in all of her insecurities being thrown at her, all of her anxieties being thrusted to the surface. The belonging and affection she craved burned to ashes, caught on the wind of her own despair. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she noticed the man who had directed the verbal assault kneeling down to grab a stone.

 _Be strong,_ she repeated Y’shtola’s words in her mind. _Don’t fight back. They are in pain beyond your imagination. Endure it._

She shut her eyes, waiting for the impact.

It never came. 

Feeling a small hand on her hip, she looked down to see her Lalafell friend mouthing something at her. 

_“Look up.”_

Following her friend’s silent request, her gaze rose, feline eyes widening in disbelief. On her other side, towering over her and with the stone in hand, was Zenos yae Galvus himself.

“Are the whims of savages so fickle?” He surveyed the crowd as he stepped forward, feet bare on the road. “One perceived error, and you snap at your hero’s feet like a pack of hounds?”

The cries had died down, a preternatural silence now falling over the alleyways of Ala Mhigo.

“Your ferocity is certainly commendable, though ill-directed. The fire in your eyes, the results of a generation of subjugation… Yes… What a _marvelous_ sight to behold.” The rock clattered to the ground, a wry smile growing on his features. He continued to walk into the heart of the mob, the group parting at his each and every step.

“You wished to judge me, yes? Then come. Do not keep me waiting.”

Not one voice spoke up from the citizens of the newly freed city-state. Even Raubahn, Lyse, and the Scions kept their silence as they watched the legatus with bated breath. Time continued to pass, the late evening sun casting shadows onto the streets below as it began to dip underneath the horizon.

“Not one of you will take the justice you so longed for into your own hands? Were your cries full of empty declarations?” With a sigh, he turned his back to them, quickly losing interest. 

“You Garlean son o' a bitch!” A burly Roegadyn man of the Resistance broke through the crowd, ungainly axe in hand, and darted toward the unarmed man. The mob around him scattered as he brought the weapon into a wide swing aiming for Zenos’s head.

Moments before the hit would have landed, the legatus whipped around, sidestepping the blow. He watched as his assailant’s weapon broke into the stone, pebbles bouncing off of the road from the impact. Hefting the axe out of the ground, the Resistance member readied himself to attempt another strike, but only managed a few steps forward before taking a carefully aimed kick to the sternum. The crack of bone echoed throughout the streets as the man crumpled to the ground, crying out in agony.

“Hmm, perhaps I was too quick in my assessment.” Zenos studied his ailing foe with passive interest before turning his attention back to the crowd. “Does anyone else wish to try their hand at being my executioner?”

There was no reply other than the Roegadyn’s moans of pain.

“No...? Then I will not suffer cowards in my sight.” His robes fluttered in the breeze as he turned and headed back to the building, his face expressionless, sky blue eyes focused on the path in front of him.

As he brushed past her, Myraeda felt his hand rest on her shoulder for only the briefest of moments before passing through the doorway, the action swift enough that she was left wondering if she had imagined it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps I should have put a warning regarding Lalafell abuse. Never fuck with Tataru, lol.


	8. Flight

“What in the seven hells was that stunt you pulled?” A decidedly incensed Lyse slammed her hands down on the conference table, staring down a mildly amused Zenos. “At this rate, we’ll have both the populace  _ and _ the Garleans trying to break down our doors!”

“I only gave them what they desired,” he replied with a small shrug. “They wished for vengeance, I provided them with an opportunity. I see no issue.”

They were back in the basement conference room, though this time with the addition of General Aldynn and the legatus. More than 24 bells had passed since the incident outside the infirmary had occurred with no additional unrest. However, it was clear that tensions were peaking and that it was only a matter of time before things escalated beyond a peaceful solution. In the end, they had gathered under the cover of night to discuss the issue at hand. Tataru had stayed behind, claiming that she had a project that needed to be completed with due haste.

Much to Myraeda’s chagrin, the very instant that they had all convened at the table Lyse started to vent her anger on the Garlean. She was beginning to wish she could cover her ears in a similar manner to other races, the shrill voice of the Ala Mhigan leader making her tense at every syllable.

“You left a man broken on the street!” the Hyur shouted back at him. The dragoon dodged a small stream of spittle, the Scions having decided to sit her and Zenos together for the meeting.

“Perhaps if he knew how to properly wield his weapon of choice, it would have turned out better for him,” the Garlean stated dryly, unmoved by her behavior.

Lyse responded with an exasperated groan.

“Ahem… More to the point, our legatus’s sudden public appearance will invariably draw Garlean attention. As whatever rumors they may have heard through their network of spies have been confirmed, it is only a matter of time before they make their move,” Alphinaud spoke up, much to the relief of the rest of the participants.

“Indeed. We cannot afford another strike upon us this soon without considerable preparation,” Raubahn agreed, his mouth set in a grim line.

“The fault lies with me for not moving upon our loose-lipped chirurgeons before it was too late,” Thancred sighed, his fist clenched at his side. “Rest assured they will be dealt with in an appropriate manner.”

_ Those chirurgeons? _ Myraeda’s thoughts drifted back to before Zenos had awoken, remembering the whispered conversation beyond her door that had sparked her attempted strangulation. She unconsciously began to bounce her foot underneath the table, a finger drawing imaginary circles on the wood.

“Thancred, I should have spoken to you earlier. I heard them speaking in confidence with one another outside my chambers a few days ago. They were…less than enthused about my decision to spare Zenos’s life,” she said hesitantly. “If I had not been so affected by their words, I would have mentioned it beforehand. For that, I apologize.” She bowed her head in shame.

“Myraeda…” Alisaie looked at her sympathetically. 

“The lady hath no need of apology.” Urianger gave her a soft smile.

“You are not at fault for us misplacing our trust in your caretakers. If we had been able, Krile, Alphinaud, and I would have taken the job upon ourselves. A lesson in caution,” Y’shtola added.

“Aye,” Alphinaud agreed. “While unfortunate, the die has already been cast. Our only option is to decide how to deal with the outcome. To that end, I have a proposal.”

All members of the meeting expectantly turned toward the young Elezen diplomat.

“I believe a relocation is in order. ‘Twould be best if both our Warrior of Light and the legatus left Ala Mhigo with due haste.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “I have already discussed the matter with Cid. He is willing to use the Excelsior for the journey.”

“That is all well and good, but it does not solve the problem of appeasing the citizens of Ala Mhigo,” Krile countered. “While I agree on the two leaving the city until the issue has been thoroughly sorted, we also must consider our role once they have absconded.”

The room fell silent. Myraeda continued drawing her invisible circles, which had managed to garner the curiosity of the Garlean beside her.

“Grisly as though it may be, my suggestion is for a staged execution,” Raubahn offered after a time. “There are a number of Garlean criminals who have already been tried and declared guilty. Pray forgive me if I am mistaken, as I am not all too familiar with magicks, but would it not be possible to employ a glamour to give one the appearance of the viceroy?”

“Then that begs the problem of a public political execution. While it would appease the citizenry, the issue of Garlean retaliation still remains,” Alphinaud replied, thumbing his chin in thought.

“I would offer this - rather than an execution, ‘twould be more prudent to stage a suicide,” Y’shtola said, her dulled eyes scanning over the table. “Not only does it avoid the political implications, the magicks would also be more easily believable on a deceased subject. As we all know, there is no shortage of bodies at the moment in Ala Mhigo.”

“As good a plan as any.” The General nodded. “What say you all?”

“It will be quite the stretch to make it believable, but a temporary glamour would function quite well when asked for proof of the deed,” Krile responded.

“There is always the risk they may suspect foul play,” Alphinaud agreed. “But I do believe it is the best option we have available to us.”

Zenos looked to the young diplomat. “Father certainly will be displeased, but I do believe that such a stunt would not hasten whatever his machinations are for the region. Use my effects however you wish.”

Myraeda stared at the man beside her incredulously. “You would aid us in this? For what purpose?”

“I have no particular attachment to Garlemald,” he stated bluntly, crossing his legs and leaning back in the chair.

The rest of the group eyed him with suspicion.

“With that matter settled, we arrive at the question of  _ where  _ they should be stationed,” Alphinaud spoke after a few moments had passed.

“Considering the strain this has put on her, I think Myraeda should make that decision.” Alisaie looked to her comrade. “Where would you be the most comfortable?”

_ Where would I…  _ Images of the various city-states that she had visited on her travels flashed through her mind. Kugane, while having the benefit of distance, also had a Garlean contingent within the city. Doma held the risk of an easy discovery, the legatus’s visage well-known by the formerly subjugated masses, and Hien would most likely object to having him anywhere near his country anyway. Gridania seemed too close to Ala Mhigo for comfort, and Ul’dah had too many ties to the newly freed nation. Lord Lolorito could also become a problematic factor if he managed to obtain information on Zenos’s whereabouts.

That left Ishgard and Limsa Lominsa, both of which held unpleasant memories that she would rather not be reminded of. The emotional wounds of the Dragonsong War were still too fresh, and she shuddered at the idea of asking Count Fortemps to shelter her with another man.

“My childhood home is in Limsa Lominsa,” she finally decided. “My neighbors have been handling the upkeep in my absence. It should serve our purposes nicely, I think.”  _ Though, by the gods, it pains me to do so. _

* * *

_ Elixirs? Check. Dried snacks for the journey? Check. All armor and weapons accounted for… Yes, good. And Mog? _

Myraeda fumbled through her personal belongings, attempting to locate her stuffed moogle. After a few frantic minutes, she found him hiding under the bedside table, originally out of her line of sight. She audibly sighed in relief, turning the plush around in her hands. Satisfied that there were no new stains or additional damage on her childhood toy, she placed him gently in her travel pack.

Once her preparations were completed, she took a moment to look into the mirror, brushing through her cropped purple hair. Her grey-blue eyes still held dark circles from her recent ordeal; she hoped that they hadn’t become a permanent fixture on her face. After adjusting her visible black brasserie, she did a small twirl, watching as her long pirate’s coat fluttered around her. It was strange to finally wear “real” clothing again, and especially so to be wearing the garb of a machinist. As the discipline required somewhat less physical exertion than her favored lance, it seemed best for now to use the aetheric firearm that she had been privately practicing with for the last few months. She hoped that Stephanivien would be proud of her progress.

“Myra, are you quite finished? I have something to show you!” Tataru called out from behind the door. 

“Yes Tataru! Please feel free to enter!” Her ears perked up in interest, tail whipping from side to side - was this related to the project she had mentioned?

She heard the hinges creak open, and turned around to see a man she barely recognized. 

The red and black haori he wore was accented with gold and hung loose on his figure, the motif along the bottom reminding her of smoke trailing into the sky. Cinched with an embroidered gold obi and black fabric that trailed large replicas of Kugane’s currency, the Samurai garb had obviously had great care taken into its design and creation. Her eyes trailed past his dark scarf to his face, shadowed by an Eastern style bamboo hat that she recalled was quite popular in Doma. Zenos’s hair had been tied back into a long ponytail, a few strands still framing his face, and his third eye had been covered by a band of black fabric. He seemed to want to be anywhere but where he was currently standing.

“By the Twelve, how did you complete that so quickly?” the Miqo’te gasped, awestruck.

“Do you like it? I had an inkling that you would both need to leave Ala Mhigo in a hurry, so I completed the initial designs a few days ago.” Tataru grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “It was certainly  _ a lot  _ of fabric, but I managed quite nicely, I believe.”

“Rather than asking if I like the outfit, have you not tried asking him?” She cocked her head to the side.

“I  _ did  _ try, but he didn’t even respond to my question! Not even a word of thanks! He would still be wearing misshapen wrinkled robes stained with blood and gods know what else if it weren’t for me,” the Lalafell grumbled back, eyeing her shoes and then the man’s bare toes.

“Quit mewling, piglet, and finish the task that you came here to do,” the legatus sighed, moving to lean against the wall as he waited.

“This man is insufferable!” she cried, but quickly composed herself as she held out a package wrapped in white cloth to Myraeda. “There are a few gifts from the rest of the Scions and me inside. Please open it when you arrive in Limsa Lominsa!”

She took the packet, surprised at the relative size and weight of it, and smiled. “All of you have been too kind to me over these last two summers, regardless of any disagreements that we may have had with one another.”

“Myra, you are talking like we will never see each other again! You are absolutely not allowed to die on me!” Tataru pouted at her friend. “Oh! I do have one more present for you. Would you lend me your wrist for just a moment?”

The Miqo’te gave her a questioning look as she kneeled down and held out her right arm. The small Scion pulled an ornate bracelet from her pocket, the design quite similar to the thorned choker Zenos yet wore, an identical red crystal set into the center. With a small click, the jewelry was locked into place around her wrist. 

“What is…?” she started to say before the Lalafell placed a finger on her lips.

“It looks beautiful on you, dear! Please don’t forget that there is more in store for you later.” She winked. 

Myraeda thought it better to stop asking questions and instead grabbed the packs of her belongings from the stone floor.

After half a bell had passed, they found themselves in the darkness of a moonless night just outside the city. The air had grown chilly underneath the myriad of twinkling stars, what passed for autumn in the region finally approaching. The machinist couldn’t help but shiver whenever a breeze picked up on the cliffside.

Docked in what could pass for a small cove was the Excelsior, Cid and crew waving to the group as they approached. Most of the Scions had opted to stay behind to avert further suspicion, much to Myraeda’s dismay, but Alphinaud and Tataru had elected to be their representatives so that she could be given a proper farewell.

They stopped a few yalms away from the airship, tears already falling down the Lalafell’s eyes.

“As I’m sure you are already well aware, please take extreme caution during this endeavor. You will not only be dealing with the Garlean in your midst, but also will be trying to avoid arousing any outside interest in your…imposing companion,” Alphinaud spoke, his concern clear in both voice and expression.

“Pray keep your linkshell close at all times! And Myra,” Tataru clenched her fists as she attempted to keep her emotions in check, “Don’t let him do…anything untoward to you.”

“Untoward…?” She raised an eyebrow, face flushed, unsure of how to react.

“Do you Scions revel in speaking as if I were not present?” Zenos was evidently becoming irritated, arms loosely crossed. “I was not aware that the famed Warrior of Light was treated like a child among her peers.”

Her face took on an even darker shade of pink while the other Scions scowled at him.

“On that note…” Myraeda hesitated before continuing, “I believe it is time that we departed. Alphinaud, Tataru, I…”

_ Keep it together, Myra.  _

“Please know that I love you and all the other Scions dearly. We will be reunited soon under happier circumstances. I promise.” She internally hissed as she felt droplets streaming down her cheeks, cursing the sky for not at least allowing her the cover of rain to hide her tears.

Tataru ran to embrace her, her head resting on the taller woman’s hip. The machinist patted her gently, giving her friend a small smile. 

“Alphinaud, you too!” The Lalafell beckoned, the young scholar reluctantly shuffling forward before joining the two women in the hug.

Though Zenos watched on impatiently, he found himself perplexed by the slightest pang of loneliness in his breast. The feeling persisted long after they had left Ala Mhigo behind, the countless stars the only guiding light for their journey onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That wraps up our time in Ala Mhigo!
> 
> Almost forgot! Their outfits are based off these:
> 
> Myraeda: Kirimu Coat  
> Zenos: Anemos Myochin Haori
> 
> To everyone who has commented, left kudos, etc. thus far - it means the world to me. I tend to be very hesitant and incredibly critical of my own work, so it's lovely to see outside perspectives. Any suggestions or constructive criticism are also incredibly appreciated!
> 
> Thank you guys, and see you next week for our arrival in Limsa Lominsa~


	9. City of Pirates

As the Excelsior slowed to enter the airship docks, Myraeda began to stir from her nap inside of the cramped hull. With a long yawn and a stretch, she sat up on the floorboards, the wood creaking with her movement. Blinking a few times as her vision refocused, she glanced around, eyeing the various magitek instruments that filled the room. They gave off a dim blue glow, allowing just enough light for her to see.

_Where am… Oh, that’s right. On the way to my hometown with my mortal enemy._

The thought brought bile to the back of her throat.

After combing her fingers through her hair, she rose to her feet and opened the door to a gust of wind and the evening sun. The docks of Limsa Lominsa sprawled like a spider’s web below her, the white stone still glimmering in the light. While her travels had brought her home on numerous occasions, this time felt jarringly different, a true return that made her almost retch over the side of the ship. Taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she went to stand beside Cid at the helm.

“How long was I asleep?” she asked him over the sound of the wind.

“Perhaps a few bells at the most. You seemed exhausted, so we collectively decided to let you get some much needed rest.” The airship captain smiled at her. 

She glanced over to Biggs and Wedge, who were making preparations for docking. Even with their occasional bickering, it warmed her heart to think just how much the crew cared about her. Continuing to scan the ship, she spotted Zenos’s large form at the bow.

“And him? The bastard hasn’t given you any issues in my absence, has he?” She frowned.

“Quite to the contrary. The legatus has kept vigil there for quite some time now. I do wonder if he’s uncomfortable speaking with a defected fellow countryman.” Cid gave a hearty laugh, his crewmates briefly looking at him before continuing with their work.

“That man’s mind is certainly an enigma,” she replied, her friend’s demeanor calming her rapidly growing worries, if only for the moment.

It wasn’t long before the airship came to a standstill. Gathering her belongings, she took another lengthy breath before stepping onto the dock, Zenos following closely behind her. With one last look and a wave, the Excelsior was off again, a shrinking dot on the horizon.

To her great discomfort, she was now alone with her foe for the foreseeable future.

Passing through the metal gate, they made their way to the lift, Myraeda directing the guard to stop at The Drowning Wench. With delaying the inevitability of returning to her childhood home her primary aim, she figured an evening meal and a copious amount of mead would make the night more bearable.

The gate lifted to the sound of music and merrymaking, many of the tables already seated with people from various walks of life. The sight of fish and popotoes on their plates made her stomach rumble in anticipation, her memories of the tavern’s cooking nothing but positive. Female Miqo’te barmaids scurried about carrying food and drink, rugged men of the sea drunkenly hollering their affections at the women. The air carried the scent of ale, seawater, and nostalgia. Myraeda couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sight before her.

“An establishment fit for savages,” Zenos said with distaste.

“Killjoy,” the machinist retorted, motioning for him to sit at a table with her. She set her belongings on the chair next to her, the Garlean following suit with his conical hat. She then proceeded to wave down the nearest barmaid. “Two specials and the largest glass of mead you have, please. Ahh, and give the man the finest ale in the house.”

“Myra! It has been so long! Did you pick up this pretty thing on your adventures?” The barmaid smiled at her. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “He’s just an acquaintance, I assure you.”

The woman winked at Zenos, who watched the exchange unamused. “Does that mean I can have him?”

“Have scurvy instead. It would certainly be more _enjoyable_ than this arse,” Myraeda awkwardly laughed. Maybe it was better that she only vaguely remembered the woman’s face.

“Rather than your pathetic attempts at flirting with me, you would be better off fulfilling the order she requested.” He glared at the barmaid, who returned an equally annoyed expression.

“Swivin’ bastard,” the woman snorted before heading into the kitchen. 

The Miqo’te sighed in relief. “I apologize for that. It is rather customary for the employees here to…”

“To woo men for a few extra gil?” he scoffed, crossing his legs.

“A blunt manner of putting it, but yes.”

Soon, but not soon enough, their drinks arrived, carried by a different woman than before. Myraeda immediately downed half the mead, her companion raising an eyebrow at her.

“How is the ale, pray tell?” she spoke after wiping off her lips with the back of her hand.

“Of acceptable quality. Moreso than I expected from this… tavern,” Zenos replied, sipping at the beverage rather than displaying the base behavior of the Miqo’te across from him.

“The savages have decent alcohol, then?” She chuckled.

“Think whatever you wish,” he spoke dryly. He took another swig, the machinist watching as his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, their supper arriving not long afterward. As soon as the plate was placed on the table, Myraeda dug into it with the vigor of a starved chocobo.

“Your lack of propriety is astounding,” the legatus sighed. In contrast to her voraciousness, he ate in a manner befitting his station within the Garlean capitol.

“Your lack of tact is _malms worse_ , Ze—“ She paused, thinking better of speaking his name in a public setting. “We must decide on a new name for you. It would be quite troublesome otherwise.”

“I will leave the decision to you. I have little interest in how you refer to me in public conversation,” he stated, continuing to focus on his meal.

His Eastern garb had her mind wandering to her travels in Kugane and Doma, her alcohol addled brain struggling to think. After a few moments, she giggled wildly, startling the man.

“I have it! Your outfit reminds me of a certain merchant in Kugane, a blond-haired ijin like yourself. I believe I will call you Hancock from now on.” The Miqo’te grinned, proud of herself.

“A strange name, but passable.” He nodded, the baked sole quickly disappearing from his plate.

The closer she was to finishing her meal, the more frantic she became about imbibing as much of the honey wine as she possibly could. By this point, she was surrounded by several empty glasses, her vision slightly blurred and face flushed pink. She gave an audible yawn, mouth opening wide enough to reveal her prominent canines. 

“Are you quite finished drowning yourself in liquor?” Zenos asked, quickly losing his patience with the woman.

“Just one more glass…” she whined back, her ears flattening against her head as she pouted at him.

“I think not. Leave the appropriate amount of gil on the table. You are needed to be cognizant enough to lead us to whatever abode you claim to have in this city.” He rose and gathered what few belongings he had left to him along with the intoxicated machinist’s.

“Arse,” she grumbled as she dug into her coin purse, much more gil than necessary clinking onto the wood. She attempted to stand, legs wobbling before she braced herself on the back of her chair, her tail rapidly swinging.

“Do I need to carry you as well?” the Garlean scoffed. 

“I can lead us there just fine, thank you very much,” she stuck her tongue out at him before unsteadily heading back to the lift. She ignored a few jeers from the other groups, somehow avoiding the wandering hands that reached for her as she passed by.

“To the Lower Decks, if you will,” she managed politely.

The cranking of the machinery echoed through the shaft, Myraeda almost losing her balance as the lift came to a halt. Refusing assistance from the attendant, she stumbled forward and began to lead Zenos through a series of walkways, both of white stone and wooden planks. The first spattering of stars had taken hold of the sky, lighting their way along with the various lamps that were slowly sputtering to life.

“Such power is wasted on you,” he muttered behind her as they followed a spiral ramp downward.

“Such a pretty face is wasted on you!” she loudly retorted. She stopped, immediately regretting voicing her thoughts aloud. “Gods fucking dammit, ignore that.”

“Keep moving then, and I’ll consider your request,” the legatus replied coolly, resisting the urge to shove her off the side of the ramp and into the sea.

The path eventually led them to a rickety wooden bridge connecting the main city to a smaller, residential island to the south. Using the rope railing to steady herself, the machinist slowly crossed as the bridge rocked to and fro on the ocean breeze. Just barely managing to keep her footing despite a couple of close calls, she was so elated to finally reach dry land that she kissed the dirt below her.

“If you manage to pass out while performing that shameful display of yours, perhaps I _will_ return to Garlemald posthaste.” He shoved her with his foot, forcing the woman to scramble back to her feet.

“Why you haven’t attempted to do so already is a godsdamned mystery to me,” she groaned back, hobbling slightly more quickly than before.

At long last, she stopped in front of a two story home, the limestone exterior weathered by age and many a rainstorm. Bracing herself on the pitted stone, she searched a pocket on the inside of her coat, fumbling out a key after an excessively long amount of time. After managing to unlock the door, she steeled herself before pulling it open to the musty air of a house long unlived in.

Running her hands along the entranceway, she sighed in relief when she found a gas lamp that still functioned. As it sputtered to life, she was further comforted by the fact that the building hadn’t been neglected in her absence. She quietly reminded herself the best she possibly could in her drunken haze to thank the neighbors in the morning for their kindness.

Her boots clacked onto the cobblestone flooring as she made her way inside, followed by the Garlean’s geta. After shutting the door behind them, she was pleased to find a pile of serviceable firewood, proceeding to use what little knowledge of magicks she had to spark a small flame in the fireplace. The shadows receded, revealing a plush red couch and a matching chair angled toward the heat of the hearth, a chocolate brown rug cushioning the legs of the furniture. Bookshelves lined most of the interior, filled with various tomes on all subjects imaginable. On the opposite side of the room stood a mahogany dining table surrounded by five chairs, a crimson tablecloth laid upon it. Everything felt impossibly clean to the Miqo’te, in stark contrast to her memories of children’s toys scattered across the room, the laughter of her siblings filling the air. All that was left was the sound of the crackling firewood. 

Her heart sank as she faced Zenos, who still lingered at the entrance. “If you could possibly lock the door and set our belongings by the table, that would be best, I think.”

Finding himself somewhat intrigued by the sudden shift in her behavior, he did as she requested, adding his bamboo hat and black headband to the various effects. He then proceeded to untie his hair, strands falling back over his shoulders and cascading down his back.

“The master bedroom is located beyond the first door to your left as you reach the top of the stairs. As the beds were designed with a Miqo’te build in mind, you may need to procure another from my old room. That would be the last door to the right… The washroom is just before that. I apologize that these accommodations are far from what you are likely accustomed to, but…” she trailed off, voice bordering on robotic in tone, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. “I will be elsewhere. Pray excuse my rudeness.”

The Garlean silently watched as she headed up the stairs, tail swaying from side to side, all traces of intoxication having disappeared from her gait.

Following the short hallway to the arched window at the back, Myraeda watched the lights of the city of pirates dance upon the water, a familiar sight that she had kept under lock and key in the back of her mind for so long. Her breath hitched, eyes already beginning to sting. She had hoped that she would never need to return to this house haunted with the specters of the past, the jovial voices of her beloved family just out of her reach.

She turned to her left, hand resting on the knob of the door for what felt like an eternity. A small movement of the wrist, and she was inside, the only illumination the gentle light of the stars and city intertwining. Two beds sized for children were placed on opposite corners of the room, sheets made too perfectly. A toy chest sat close by, slightly battered but still usable, an unstained crimson rug splayed out on the wooden flooring. In the center of the room, a table was set low enough for play and study both. The sound of silence was deafening.

Forgetting to close the door behind her, her legs buckled after a few steps, her form collapsing to the ground. Now on her knees, her head rose to the ceiling, grey-blue eyes staring into the abyss of memory. She paid no mind to the tears spilling down her cheeks, a trickle, then a flood, her chest shuddering with gasps for air.

If she could have torn her beating heart from her chest at that moment, she would not have hesitated to do so.

After a time, she laid her head upon the floor and curled into a ball, silently sobbing until sleep mercifully took her far, far away from Limsa Lominsa.

Zenos wordlessly watched the scene all the while, arms crossed and face expressionless, only taking his leave once her breathing had settled into the slow rhythm of slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zenos banned her from alcohol after this incident. Poor thing.


	10. Intentions

Rays of sunlight settled over Myraeda’s eyelids, causing her to let out a pained groan. Burying her head into the crook of her arm, she tried to block out as much of it as she could. She felt her heartbeat drum in time to the throbbing pain in her skull, her mouth dry and a vague sense of nausea rising from her stomach.

Hangovers were miserable at the best of times, but as she remembered where she was, she debated on drowning the pain with even more liquor. It certainly would have been better than having to deal with the reality she had managed to find herself in. She was home again after almost seven years, within reach of both her Garlean adversary and the fallout of the Calamity that she had refused to acknowledge for so long.

She rolled onto her back and slowly uncovered her eyes. The wooden ceiling above her stared back at her as she mentally began following the various grooves in the material, trying to ground herself before attempting to follow through with the day before her. There was just so much to be done and so many questions to ask, and likely just as many to answer.

With some effort and an equal amount of grumbling accompanying it, the Miqo’te pushed herself off the rug, fingers instinctively running through her hair. She left the room as swiftly as she could possibly manage and closed the door, vowing to never open it again for as long as she lived.

After a much needed shower and various other grooming activities, she looked into the mirror, properly studying her body for the first time since the ill-fated battle. Streaks of angry red coursed over her like snakes slithering across the grass, her back bearing the brunt of the scarring. She was thankful that most of it could be hidden this time, swearing that she would avoid visiting Costa del Sol for the foreseeable future. Thankfully, as autumn was almost in full swing, that was the most trifling of her concerns. Whether Zenos was still within the confines of the home, however, was of far further import.

She scrambled to dress herself, deciding to waste as little time as possible to assuage her building anxiety. Inhaling deeply, she left the washroom, quietly tiptoeing down the hallway until she was at the master bedroom. Rapping on the door, she listened carefully for movement inside.

“So eager to find me?” his smug words echoed from down the stairs.

Suppressing a groan, she followed his voice to the dining room table, the Garlean dressed and sipping on a glass of water. She noted with amusement that his chair seemed rather small for him, his legs too long to comfortably fit underneath the table.

“Still here, I see,” she replied, sitting down across from him. “I assumed that you would have been halfway to Garlemald by now.”

“For what purpose?” he questioned, giving her an unnerving smile.

“You would rather be held captive, deprived of your position and forbidden from your hunt?” She attempted to project as much confidence into her voice as she could muster. “Passing strange, that is.”

“You misunderstand me,” he stated, his tone bordering on predatorial. “It is _precisely_ due to the hunt that I remain.”

“Then why not kill me in my sleep and be done with it? You had ample chance to last night if you had so wished.” Her eyes narrowed. 

“A simple answer. It would have been _far_ too boring.” He shrugged, his eyes locked onto hers. “Why not keep you within arms’ reach until the time is ripe?”

“Then you have made the dangerous assumption that I would allow you to live up until that point.”

“Nay, I think not. If you had truly wished for my death, my life would have ended in Ala Mhigo, either with your hands around my throat or with a lance through my breast.” He leaned back in the chair, his words dripping with arrogance.

Myraeda cringed. No matter how much she wished to deny it, she knew the legatus’s words were the truth. Even so, the compulsion to throw something at his smug face kept growing by the second.

“However, let us put that particular conversation on hold for now. This abode of yours lacks any food to speak of. That should be addressed, and you are the only one familiar with this city.” Zenos motioned to the kitchen with a flip of his hand.

She reluctantly nodded, swallowing her frustration for the moment. “My intention was to make a trip to The Bismarck today. You will, of course, be required to join me on this small excursion. ...I will warn you, however, that my skills at the culinary arts have...much to be desired.”

“This room is filled to the brim with books. Surely at least one of them will contain a recipe or two.” His azure eyes scanned the shelves behind her.

“Even so, I cannot promise anything…” She tried to find the right words. “...edible.”

The Garlean gave her an incredulous look.

“If anything, the establishment serves the best food this side of Eorzea! And since the Culinarian Guild is located there, I’m certain they can offer us some advice.” The Miqo’te coughed, averting her eyes from the increasingly judgmental stare across the table.

“...Fair enough,” he responded after a time, rising to head toward the door. 

She quickly followed after him, checking her pockets for reassurance before heading out, companion in tow, to the city proper.

* * *

“Why must the aetheryte plaza always be this crowded?” Myraeda whined, her head pounding. She had never been fond of the hustle and bustle of the city center, and her hangover compounded every aggravating aspect of her surroundings. The booming voices of the majority Roegadyn population had her folding her ears to her head, attempting to block out at least some of the noise around her. It was of little use, however, and she was eager to complete their errands so that she could find some semblance of peace and quiet for the rest of the day. At the very least, her stomach wasn’t growling at her anymore.

They had stopped for a quick luncheon at The Bismarck, sitting under the red canopy with the beauty of the sea in full view. She had enjoyed the cool breeze that was so characteristic of Limsa Lominsa this time of year, having never been quite fond of the heat. Zenos had been silent all the while, his eyes staring somewhere beyond her, which had unnerved the Miqo’te greatly. After a few jabs from Lyngsath about asking the guild for advice without formally joining it, she had been able to procure a number of basic ingredients as well as a cookbook for beginner culinarians. Unfortunately, she had also managed to attract the guildmaster’s choice comments about her purportedly new boyfriend, which resulted in her denying it vehemently with a flushed face and the Garlean giving the poor man a death glare.

Their final stop of the day was to be Hawkers’ Alley, since Myraeda felt it was best to find them both clothing for lounging. As she had such little time to relax in the past, what was left to her was tattered and in no condition to be worn around less than polite company, and Zenos had nothing of the sort on his person. Considering their primary objective was to garner as little attention as possible to the man, she assumed that most of their time would be spent indoors. And the very thought of him being alone with her without something proper to wear was…

_I do NOT need to be imagining that monster unclothed in any way, fashion, or form._

Her face beet red from the improper mental image that had come to her unbidden, she brought her attention back to her surroundings finally, realizing that a certain someone was missing. Cursing herself for spacing out again, she spun in a circle as she searched for him, making little progress due to the height of everyone around her. Even using the aetheryte platform as a step stool proved to be of little use to her, much to her frustration. Why did she have to be so godsdamned short? 

Slumping onto the ledge, heart racing and breath quickening, she tried to parse out a plan in her panicked state.

_This is why I need Alphinaud! I am absolutely horrid when it comes to situations like these..._

She took a moment to close her eyes, breathing in and holding her breath for a few seconds before letting it out gradually. She repeated the sequence a few more times, trying to get a handle on her emotions so that she could at least begin to think logically. Just as she had completed her breathing exercises, however, she began to feel as if something had pricked her wrist. 

Her eyes shot open, searching for the source of the pain. They landed on the ornate bracelet that Tataru had clamped into place before she had escaped Ala Mhigo. The center crystal had a faint red glow emanating from it, a feature the Miqo’te was absolutely certain she would have noticed before. As it gradually grew brighter, the prickling sensation radiated outward and shot up her right arm. She tried to tear the jewelry off of her wrist to no avail. 

_What in the seven hells is going on?!_

The prickling turned into a stabbing pain, the feeling akin to having hundreds of thorns violently shoved into her skin at once. Holding back a cry, she grabbed onto her arm, squeezing it as she attempted to endure the onslaught. And as suddenly as it appeared, the sensation vanished, replaced by a small tap on her shoulder.

“From your expression, I assume you experienced something similar,” Zenos’s voice was almost a whisper as he moved to sit beside her. “Do you have an explanation?”

Unclamping her hand from her now reddened forearm, she tapped on her bracelet. “I believe _this_ is the culprit. Some machination of the Scions, I suppose. But for what purpose…”

“...A sort of tracking device. A clever invention, even for you savages,” his tone bordered on impressed. “They very clearly intended for us not to be separated.”

“They didn’t need to make it so godsdamned _painful_ ,” she groaned, rubbing her hand up and down the afflicted arm.

“It makes for a rather effective deterrent,” he said, motioning for her to stand. “Take care not to fall behind from now on.”

_Perhaps if you weren’t so bloody tall…_

The rest of their outing was rather uneventful. After managing to find a skilled weaver among the various stalls in Hawkers’ Alley, the pair discovered that the man miraculously had clothing on hand that would easily work for their purposes, albeit with a few simple alterations. With their errands finally completed, they returned to their lodgings posthaste, Myraeda grumbling under her breath all the while about her companion’s inability to use the aetheryte network.

She now found herself in the kitchen, her father’s domain of years past. Even now, she could almost smell his signature mutton stew in the air. She had never understood his fondness for the craft, but she was ever the willing taste tester for as long as she could remember. It was with painful regret that she stared at the various vegetables in front of her, knife in hand and little idea where to start.

 _I have to peel the onions first, right…?_ Even with the culinarian’s guide in front of her, it neglected to explain the finer details of how to properly use the tools at her disposal, much to her annoyance. The other Scions had always picked up the slack when it came to cooking, her job in the process limited to the procurement of protein for whatever dish they had in mind. Her lack of interest was, to simply put it, coming back to bite her in the arse.

As she chopped the onions to the best of her ability, an elongated shadow began to drift over her. The Miqo’te spun around, aiming her knife at whatever intruder had decided to try and catch her off-guard. She found herself facing Zenos’s chest, his derisive laughter echoing above her head.

“You do realize you could have announced yourself?” she said, turning back to focus on the onions.

“This was _far_ more amusing. Your reflexes appear to still be intact, at the very least.” He watched her chop through the vegetables at a snail’s pace, her knife work clumsy and uncertain.

“Was the amusement worth the possibility of a knife being shoved into your gut?” she scoffed. Her eyes were already beginning to feel irritated, and she prayed to whatever gods were listening that the man behind her felt the same way.

“You do me the disservice of assuming that I would ever allow such a thing.” The Garlean kneeled down beside her, watching her for a few moments longer before speaking again. “I have a proposition for you.”

Myraeda went still, her heart skipping a beat. “Oh…?”

“Nothing as base as you seem to believe,” he stated flatly. “Rather, you appear to need assistance with whatever dish you are attempting to create. I can offer it, if you are willing to answer a few questions.”

“That wasn’t…!” she sputtered, shaking her head. “Never mind. If you could possibly peel the popotoes on the counter, I will try to answer you to the best of my ability.”

He nodded, leaving to procure a chair from the other room and then returning to the kitchen. Setting it a small distance away from her, he grabbed a suitable kitchen knife before sitting down and starting the tedious task assigned to him.

“You have yet to explain your decision to force your savage friends into sparing my life,” he said, “let alone your uncharacteristic hesitation in our battle.”

Her breath hitched as she searched for an answer. “I… This was also a point of contention with the Scions. All I can truly say is what I explained to them when I awoke…”

“Which was…?” he pressured.

“A compulsion I had never felt previously. An immediate need to…” she hesitated, “...to protect. Visceral, overwhelming… Strong enough that I had no choice but to obey it. From what source it came from, I cannot say. Krile had postulated that it was Hydaelyn, but I have no way of knowing for certain.”

“To _protect_?” Zenos sneered. “I have no need of Hydaelyn’s protection.”

“I never said that I _understood_ her intent by it, assuming it was her,” she sighed. “All that I can speak to are my own experiences. And those include that same compulsion occurring first at The Royal Menagerie and again when…”

“When I awoke to your feeble attempts at strangulation,” he concluded.

“Aye. Congratulations, it appears that for whatever reason I cannot kill you,” she huffed, taking her frustration out on an unfortunate carrot.

“A pity that your Mother Crystal cannot afford you the selfsame protection,” he said, reaching for another popoto. “Though that is of little consequence, considering the enchantment your Scions so kindly placed upon me.”

“You could have been rid of me long ago had you so wished, you realize.” She moved to search for a pot among the various cabinets, making a small noise of satisfaction once she had finally located one.

“I tire of consistently explaining the same point to you. There is no sport to be had in dispatching you like a rabid cur,” he replied, his eyes trained on her as she filled the pot with water. “You will face me with your full strength and will, or not at all.”

“I am not sure whether to be appreciative or thoroughly pissed.” She laughed awkwardly as she set a fire on the stove. “What _are_ your intentions, then? You refuse to outright kill me, are currently half the fighter you once were, and neither of us have the capacity to remove this absolutely horrid form of babysitting I assume Master Matoya devised.”

“We are at an impasse.” He shut his eyes, appearing to be lost in thought. “Until we have further information from your Scions, I will bide my time. The impact of Ala Mhigo’s liberation on Garlemald’s operations shall be interesting to see, at the very least.”

“Honestly, that may be all that we _can_ do.” She unceremoniously dumped the various chopped vegetables into the water, creating a small splash that caused the flames below the pot to hiss. “Finish peeling and cutting the popotoes into chunks. I’ll search for whatever seasonings this godsforsaken book is asking me to use.”

They continued their meal preparation in relative silence, the Miqo’te very occasionally asking for assistance with reaching the shelves. After almost a bell had passed, they looked into their pot of what was allegedly meant to be some sort of vegetable soup.

“...Is it _supposed_ to be that coloration?” Zenos asked the woman, somewhat perturbed.

“I… It certainly looks quite unlike the image in the book,” her voice wavered, chuckling nervously.

He sniffed over the pot, frowning. “ _You_ are taking the first bite, Myraeda.”

“Wait, what-“ she began before his words fully registered. “That…That is…the first time I have ever heard you say my name.” The sound of the syllables resonating from him came as a shock, and yet, her heart felt somehow lighter for it.

“Is it?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I was not aware that it mattered.”

She rolled her eyes and considered dumping the questionable contents of the pot onto his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me this far! I believe this is the longest chapter I've written up to this point. >_>;;
> 
> See y'all next week for more Limsa Lominsa shenaniganry!


	11. Nightmares

_ The red moon swallowed the sky, the land aflame and the air filled with the wailing of the dying. Her eyes seared with the blinding light and ash, her lungs feeling as if they could be hacked right out of her throat and onto the charred grass before her. She wondered if her skin would simply melt away in this deepest layer of hell. Would it be more or less painful than being deep within the belly of a voidsent? _

_ Bloodshot and stinging, she managed to crack open her eyes, immediately wishing she hadn’t. _

_ The bloodied maw of a Cerberus hung above her, droplets of drool tinted red plopping onto her forehead. Its breath was the stench of death itself, and she did everything she possibly could to stifle her gag reflex. The monster sniffed at her, her hair being pulled into the air from the very force of it. Her heart pounded in her ears as she held her breath, praying to whomever of the Twelve that would listen to her that she would be spared the gnashing of its teeth. _

_ A shout from afar took the voidsent’s attention away from her, much to her relief, until she realized the source of the distraction. Her mother. _

_ The bright red hue of the older woman’s hair stood out starkly in the billowing smoke. Her eyes were determined, fearless in the face of the chaos around her. She waved her hands in the air, attempting to draw the fiend to herself. The Cerberus slowly sauntered toward its new prey, the three heads snapping in the air in anticipation. And in a flash, the middle one grabbed her body, shaking her about like a rag doll. _

_ Her daughter watched, frozen in place on the ground, as she attempted to mouth something to her. _

_ “Run.” _

_ Scrambling to her feet, she backed away slowly from the scene in front of her, her eyes still glued to her mother’s face. More pleas to escape, and then… _

_ Half of her body fell to the ground as the voidsent chomped down, entrails spilling out among a rush of blood and fluids, the screaming piercing her daughter’s ears.  _

_ So much red, so much red, so much red… _

_ She ran. _

Myraeda shot up on the couch, panting. Cold sweat had soaked through her hair and still streamed down her forehead, the back of her loose, crimson top sticking to her clammy skin. She cried out in her delirium when she looked at her arms, taking several moments to realize that the fabric was not stained with blood. Blinking slowly, she attempted to gather her bearings. The soft crackling of a dying fire in the fireplace, countless books surrounding her…

_ Ah. That  _ would  _ be the source, wouldn’t it? That those dreams would return to plague me here… _

She sighed audibly, more forcefully than she had intended, as she collapsed back onto the sofa. 

The gruff sound of someone clearing their throat answered back, causing her to almost jump halfway into the air. Sitting up once again, her head darted around, trying to locate the source of the noise in the dim light. She groaned when she found a certain Garlean lounging on the adjacent plush chair, his legs crossed and arm holding up his head lazily. With a sharp intake of breath, she realized that he had forgone a shirt.

“Do you make a habit of screaming into the night as you slumber?” Zenos asked, his voice holding just a hint of hoarseness. “If so, I pity your savage friends and the countless sleepless nights they must have endured.”

“No, I…” she hesitated, her gaze unconsciously fixing on the man’s well-defined musculature, the tightness of his abdomen, the sharp lines of his hip bones…

“You also appear to lack any sort of decorum, if your wandering eyes are of any indication,” he said, clearly irritated by her behavior.

Her feline eyes darted back to his face, her cheeks burning. “What are you doing downstairs at this hour, pray tell?”

“One would think an intruder had caught you unawares from how loudly you were shrieking. I was not about to allow a savage to steal my quarry,” he replied, moving to stretch his neck.

“You have such little faith in my abilities?” she scoffed, folding her legs underneath her.

“Sleep opens us up to vulnerability,” he said, “if you could call that travesty I witnessed sleep.”

“Fair point,” she murmured, running her fingers through her hair. “May I ask...just how long you have been there?”

His eyes closed as he pondered the question. “Perhaps a couple of bells. There was little point in returning to bed considering the sheer amount of noise you were making.”

“ _ A couple of bells?!” _ she shouted, her tail bouncing rapidly behind her. 

“Must you be so loud?” the legatus sighed, rubbing his temples in consternation at her outburst.

“I…” She hung her head, her fingers playing with the soft fabric of her shorts. “This is the first time it has happened in several moons. It’s typically not a common occurrence, just…” she trailed off, staring into space.

“Your behavior since arriving in this city has been…far from what I would deem normal.” His pale blue eyes locked onto hers.

_ Is he…concerned? Nay, I must be imagining things. _

“And what  _ is _ normal of me, Zenos? You know of me through battle alone, through what I represent to you and through whatever sick entertainment you find in your hunt.” Her eyes narrowed. “Like most of Eorzea and beyond, you do  _ not _ know me. Not truly.”

He was slightly taken aback, eyes widening for mere moments. “I am merely observing that episodes of night terrors and bawling on the floor of a child’s bedroom are not typically common amongst most people, to my knowledge.”

“Wait, you…saw that?” Her mouth hung open at the realization.

“The mattress was much too small, as you had stated. Your sniveling just happened to be a distraction as I was on my way to procure the second bed,” he replied matter-of-factly. “There is clearly something bothering you.”

“And when did you suddenly decide to care?” she retorted, her embarrassment fueling her growing rage at the man.

“When your actions began to disrupt my rest.” He stood, stretching his arms into the air. “I will not hesitate to muzzle you should you continue to do so.”

“Try me,” she hissed, her ears flattening against her head.

“Gladly.” He flashed a wry smile before heading toward the stairs. “For now I will just have to resort to holding a pillow over my ears.”

She glared at him as he disappeared up the stairs, the sound of a door on the second floor opening and closing causing her to sigh in relief. Left alone in the growing darkness, she pondered why the man’s words had created such a hostile response in her. Was it the realization that deep down, there may in fact be something akin to human within the monster?

Utterly perturbed, she laid her head back upon the pillow, hoping this time for a dreamless slumber to take her.

* * *

They ate breakfast in relative silence, although by that point the sun was already high in the sky. Zenos had shooed the Miqo’te out of the kitchen as she attempted to scramble some eggs, as he had noticed a small stream of smoke emanating from the room. Now forbidden from cooking, she ate what served as a passable, though quite bland, meal.

“Do they not have spices in Garlemald?” she muttered under her breath, dark circles stark against the pale skin underneath her eyes.

“You have lost your right to complain after nearly poisoning us yesterday,” he replied, taking a bite out of the eggs he had just barely managed to save. “I will overlook your insolence just this once, however, and consider it a recommendation for the future.”

“When did the great Prince Zenos learn how to cook?” She rested her head on the table, using her arms as a cushion.

“I can follow directives, unlike you. If I am forced to eat one more abomination of a meal…” He paused, thinking. “I may consider sending the Ala Mhigans your head as a gift.”

She visibly cringed, burying her face further into her arms. “Fine, you win. Enjoy your newly earned title as budding culinarian.”

Myraeda found herself slowly growing accustomed to the Garlean’s constant presence, even if most of their conversations seemed to involve his insults and her frustrated retorts. There was the smallest part of her that found it amusing, though she tried her utmost to ignore it. How could she see anything entertaining about  _ him _ , after all?

What truly irked her, however, was how difficult it was to tame her wandering eyes. For whatever godsforsaken reason, the man had decided he was much more comfortable lounging about without anything to cover up his top half. She hated admitting to herself that he was far from ugly, and knew that even Lyse of all people would agree with her assessment. Focusing her attention on his face did not seem to help either. She was never one for eye contact, least of all with someone whose eyes barely seemed to hold any hint of life. It was uncanny, unnerving, and they gave her such a deep feeling of uncomfortability. The dichotomy was such a strange one, and she wondered why she still felt even a hint of interest. In the end, she chalked it up to not having been alone with a man half-dressed since her time in Ishgard. Since…

“We are sparring today,” she spoke up suddenly, raising her head from the table. “Dress yourself and meet me down here as quickly as you can manage.”

“You would allow me to brandish a weapon at you?” he asked incredulously, setting his fork down on his plate.

“Neither of us are in peak condition. Isn’t that what you told me you would prefer before even considering killing me?” She cocked her head to the side.

“Fair enough.” He stood, gathering their dishes from the table. “I assume you have the proper equipment for the occasion?”

“Would you have expected otherwise?” She laughed as she rose to her feet. “Never doubt me when it comes to weaponry.”

After their preparations, the Miqo’te led him to a secluded cove on the island. Only the rustling of leaves and the cries of birds could be heard this far away from the city itself, along with the ever present waves slowly crashing upon the shore. Setting her pack down on the grass, she began to rummage through it before haphazardly tossing Zenos a katana.

“This does not appear to be practice grade…” he said as he unsheathed it, studying the sharpness of the blade. His calloused fingers traced the red cording of the hilt before giving it a test swing, the sudden whoosh of air ruffling his companion’s hair and making her ears twitch.

“I had a distinct feeling that it wouldn’t particularly matter whether it was or not in  _ your _ hands.” She chuckled, grabbing her aetherotransformer and attaching it to her hip. She carefully unwrapped her Hive Musketoon, taking a moment to savor the cool smoothness of the steel before strapping it to her back. Relocating the rest of her belongings underneath a nearby palm tree, she then positioned herself a few yalms away from the Garlean.

“You decided to bring a firearm to this competition?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I was under the impression that a lance was more to your liking.”

“I’ve been wanting to try something new for quite a while.” She shrugged, taking the musketoon from its holster and examining it. “It seemed fitting, considering the locale.”

“A new sort of challenge, then.” Returning the katana to its scabbard, he fastened it to the side of his haori before planting his legs into an all-too-familiar battle stance. Flashing a grin that belonged more to the likes of a wolf than a man, he gripped the hilt of the weapon with his right hand, steadying the scabbard with his left. “Come. Let us begin.”

Within an instant, Myraeda barely side-stepped a blow meant for her unprotected chest. With her musketoon now in hand, she hurled herself backward, firing a shot that was quickly knocked aside by Zenos’s blade. Already on the defensive, she was forced to concentrate all her energy on avoiding the dance of his sword while attempting to create just enough distance to fire off her rounds. Her movements felt sluggish to her, joints stiff, and she cursed herself for not doing morning exercises at the very least.

“Why do you run?” The man let out a feral laugh, the ferocity of his onslaught only continuing to grow. His katana sliced through the air just above the machinist’s head as she ducked down.

“Seeing if you’ll manage to tire yourself out.” She grinned wildly, her canines glinting in the sunlight. Launching herself up into the air, she managed to finally gain enough ground on the hill above to fire several shots, creating just enough chaos to give her the proper distance she needed. Her firearm now overheated, she sent out several Heat Blasts, pushing the man farther back toward the sand of the beach. Uneven footing would work in her favor, she silently mused, as she pressed him ever farther toward the sea with a hail of bullets. 

Zenos’s geta sank down deeply into the sand, his momentum slowing briefly before he quickly recovered. That gave her just enough time, however, to aim a shot that just managed to graze his cheekbone.

He staggered backward, fingers briefly brushing the trickle of blood that had begun to well up. Then, with a manic expression, he rushed forward, forcing the Miqo’te to roll out of the way before being skewered onto his blade.

The back-and-forth continued, Myraeda trying to press the man further toward the sea while he kept on the offensive. Without her lance to help keep the massive man at a distance, she found it difficult to gain any ground on him, though his size did create a larger target for her to aim at. A different tactic was needed, she quickly decided, as she dashed onto the beach itself. 

The Garlean followed, his wooden clogs causing sand to fly into the air as he closed the space between them. The clang of bullets meeting steel echoed throughout the cove, a flock of birds escaping into the air as a stray shot whizzed into the trees.

She suddenly felt her boot catch onto something deep within the sand. Cursing her luck as she felt herself slipping, she stuck her other foot out just in time to catch her opponent off balance as well. They tumbled onto the beach, falling just short of the crashing waves. 

Zenos rose onto his knees first, his large form overshadowing the woman as he brought his blade to her neck. “Do you yield?”

“Think again.” She grinned from underneath him, the muzzle of her musketoon digging into the man’s ribs.

“...A draw.” He tossed his sword to the side, collapsing beside her onto the sand. They lay there in silence for several long minutes, the eternal music of the ocean roaring in their ears.

“...How do you fair?” Myraeda said after a time, her hand blocking out the sunlight from her eyes.

“As if my flesh were not my own.” He snorted, stretching an arm out into the air. “As if my body were moving malms underneath the sea rather than on the shoreline. Whether a product of the enchantment or a consequence of half a moon spent idling after injury, I suppose we will know in time.”

“I can speak to the latter. My joints have not felt this stiff in several summers.” She softly chuckled. “What a pathetic pair we make.”

“And yet, I assure you that even now most would fall under our power,” he replied, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips.

“You think too highly of yourself.” She failed to suppress a fit of giggles as she shoved at the man’s shoulder.

“Do I amuse you so?” Zenos sat up finally, grains of sand clinging to the long, blond strands of his hair.

“Amuse is a strong word, but…” She followed him, crossing her legs as she watched the waves roll ever closer to them. “I will admit that I quite enjoyed our match.”

“Is that right…” he mused quietly, eyes shut as the breeze whipped about them. He made a small noise of contentment as he looked to her with a hint of a smile. “Perhaps we should make a habit of it, then.”

She felt a flutter in her chest as she answered back. “I think...I would like that very much.”

* * *

The Miqo’te found herself alone again in the living room, the sun having set long ago and her companion having already retired upstairs. She had lost herself in a book on the history of the Limsa Lominsan thalassocracy, forgetting the hour until the firelight had dimmed just enough to make the act of reading uncomfortable. After placing a rather ornate metal bookmark into the tome, she set it aside on the table in front of her. Just as her head rested on the pillows and her eyes shut, however, she had a sudden realization.

After a long stretch, she was on her feet, crossing to the other side of the room. Sitting against the wall beside the dining table was the still unopened gift Tataru had bestowed upon her before they had left Ala Mhigo behind. She set the package on the tabletop and sat in one of the chairs before working on the knot in the white cotton wrapping.

She opened it to an assortment of baked goods, courtesy of Tataru, as well as a number of farewell letters from the various Scions. As she opened the seals on each one, she could feel her eyes beginning to water as she squinted to read them in what light was left to her. Even Thancred of all people had left her a note of encouragement, even if it read gruffly and urged her not to take her eyes off of her “newfound pet”. She audibly groaned at that, wondering what exactly that man thought the relationship between her and Zenos was.

To be fair, she was beginning to wonder the same thing, as “enemy” seemed less suitable as a description day by day. She felt a cool shiver run down her spine at the thought.

Shaking her head, she put aside the items that she had already parsed through, leaving her with a thin, elongated rectangular box. She undid the small lock and cracked the wooden case open to another sealed letter and an eerily familiar katana. With great care, she lifted the weapon out, examining the stark white hilt, the blood red blade complimented by an ornate black pattern with a hint of gold threaded through at the guard. Confused, she set it to the side and opened the final missive, looking for an explanation.

_ “Dearest Myra, _

_ The rest of the Scions wanted me to tell you how much they apologize for keeping you in the dark about your new jewelry. If you haven’t already noticed, you probably will trip the mechanism sooner rather than later if you aren’t mindful. ‘Shtola tells me the pain gets rather intense once you and that insensitive brute are separated by more than a hundred yalms or so, so please be careful, dear! You won’t be able to remove it without her or Krile’s help, so you will just have to manage in the meantime. _

_ We also decided, after rummaging through Zenos’s effects in preparation for the mock suicide, to entrust this gift to you. Alphinaud thinks that it would be best for you to keep it until ‘the need arises for it’. I’m not certain what he means by that, but please do keep it out of that Garlean’s hands! _

_ Remember, Myra, you are NOT allowed to die on me. And please be wary of him… Though I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that. _

_ With love, _

_ Tataru Taru” _

Myraeda leaned back in her chair, almost dropping the parchment to the floor. While she loved her adoptive family, having yet another responsibility thrust upon her was not what she had been hoping for when she decided to finally open this “present”. Even so, she whispered her thanks for all the well wishes and snacks, though she felt that they were hardly deserved. After all, was it not her own fault that she was in this potentially deadly situation?

Storing the baked goods in the kitchen, she placed all of the letters inside of the wooden box, shutting it gently before searching for a hiding spot. In the end, she slipped it underneath the couch, making her feel as if she were a dragon guarding her hoard.

That night, the nightmares did not return, replaced by a growing warmth within her breast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a peek at the first chapter - I recently had an art piece commissioned of these two idiots and it turned out wonderfully. <3 The artist is credited at the beginning of that chapter as well. Please take a look at her Twitter, she's amazing!


	12. Altercation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Strong gendered language, brief discussion about sex trafficking.

A little more than a week had passed, with a routine forming between the two unwilling companions. Myraeda would awaken to the smell of whatever recipe the Garlean decided to attempt that morning, and would sneak into the kitchen to watch his work briefly before heading to the washroom. Always the late riser, she was surprised at how much earlier the man seemed to be up and about before her. Their breakfast conversations, when they had them, were awkward and stilted at their best, and full of snark at their worst. The Miqo’te’s most recent complaint involved Zenos’s consistent overuse of garlic, his tired explanation involving something along the lines of it being a staple of Garlean cuisine.

They would follow their meal with a sparring match in their now-favored cove. Still uncomfortable with taking up her lance for the moment, she focused on perfecting her firearm techniques. Her need to be nimble was much higher with that particular discipline, however, and she was finding it difficult to keep distance between the legatus and her during their matches. Even so, their win-loss record stayed relatively even. They would rest on the beach afterward, watching the waves crash upon the shore in silence - the eternal ebb and flow that so compelled the woman. It was the one place in the world where she could forget her obligations and her past for a time, focusing solely on the movements of her opponent, on the sounds and sights of her surroundings, and on the nature of their tenuous relationship.

There was this unspoken understanding to avoid prying too deeply into anything personal, jump started by Myraeda’s explosive reaction to the Garlean asking about her strange behavior on the first night her nightmares had returned. Most nights she would awaken to her own voice screaming into the dark, a cold sheen of sweat upon her brow. The memories of the Calamity came unbidden now, and it took all that she could muster to hold herself together. And yet, and yet…to her utter disbelief, Zenos would always be there when she so violently awoke in the middle of the night, ever lounging in the chair with his head resting upon his fist. Sometimes she found him asleep, her instincts telling her to stay far away while another part of her wished to drape a blanket over his form. Then there were the moments when she would sit up to find him staring at her, his expression unreadable, before he returned up the stairs without uttering a single word.

It didn’t mesh with her preconceptions of the man, which only served to continuously confuse her. She knew him as that ruthless son of a bitch who only cared for violence, for finding someone worthy enough to challenge. She had seen the fear and pain in Krile’s eyes when she had been returned to the Scions, how she spoke of that lifeless stare and ever present smile of his that clearly belonged to someone not of sound mind. And while she  _ had _ witnessed these aspects of him in their time alone, there was also something…else. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but the feeling came to her in those moments she awoke to him conducting his silent vigil, in those minutes after they had finished sparring when he seemed so content, and in the unbidden use of her name that he assured her had no meaning.

What went on within the Garlean prince’s mind? She had considered asking during one of their meals, but her chest would seize up and the words would not leave her throat. Thus their days went about in the same manner, with linkshell silence from the Scions and too much time left to herself and her ruminations.

On that day, after realizing their stores of ingredients were running low, the pair begrudgingly decided to leave their relatively inconspicuous post on the residential island to do some much-needed shopping. Myraeda resisted the temptation to linger at stalls, as whenever anything caught her eye, the legatus would roughly grab her arm to continue onto their intended destination. While it frustrated her to no end, the behavior  _ was _ rather sensible - after all, her face was recognizable, especially within the confines of her childhood home. The less attention, the better, she understood. That still didn’t stop her from wanting to spend her gil on a myriad of frivolous purchases to distract her from the growing unease in her mind.

After a rather uneventful stop at The Bismarck, they were on their return trip when Zenos stopped dead in his tracks on a deserted spiral bridge.

“What are you-“ She was cut off by a rough hand on her shoulder.

“Listen,” he mouthed, azure eyes scanning the area around him.

Shocked into silence, she pivoted her ears this way and that, trying to catch whatever had alerted her companion. And there it was - the unmistakable heavy breathing of several Roegadyn men and whomever else had accompanied them.

She cursed her height, unable to convey any plans covertly, and decided to take matters into her own hands as the only armed person between the two of them.

“Show yer faces, ye bastards,” Myraeda shouted, her accent shifting dramatically enough to catch the Garlean off guard.

One, two, three… Eight men in all surrounded them, the majority Roegadyn with a couple Hyur in tow. They looked no different than most of the denizens of the city-state, appearing as if they had stepped off a ship only a couple bells prior. The ruffians were armed, brandishing pistols and daggers, and had clearly planned their ambush well in advance.

“We’ve caught ourselves a fiesty one, eh?” One of the men guffawed, the rest quickly joining him.

“Lemme see ‘ere… Looks to be a Coeurl fucker an’ ‘is whore.” What appeared to be their boss stepped forward, approaching the woman with a wicked grin on his face.

She stood her ground, never breaking eye contact with the Roegadyn brute, as he grabbed her chin and shoved her head around while he examined her face.

“The Miqo’te bitch would sell fer a pretty penny, don’t ye think?” another one of the men offered. “I ‘ear the brothels in Ul’dah are always lookin’.”

“We’d hafta break ‘er first. Take the spark outta ‘er eye.”

“I’d bite the shaft ‘twixt yer legs off if ye tried,” she hissed at the leader, spitting into the man’s face. She was awarded with a fist to her jaw.

Zenos straightened, gaze locked onto the men in front of him. His usual demeanor now held a spark of quiet rage.

“The bloke’s got a dangerous look to ‘im, that one does,” one of the Hyur of the group said from somewhere behind her. “The Coeurl can wait.”

The majority of the goons moved to surround the Garlean, hands drifting to the weapons at their belts.

“Are you committed to whatever fate your actions will deliver to you?” His voice was as cold as a Coerthan winter, underlaid by something utterly feral. The seconds felt like bells as the wind whipped around them.

“Swivin’ bastards…” the machinist muttered as she used the distraction to shove her shoulder into the leader of the pack, followed by a swift kick to the groin as he lost his balance. She snatched her musketoon from her back, aiming and releasing a Gauss Round at the group.

A couple of ruffians attempted to break off to subdue her, followed by a flash of blond hair. They collapsed in mere instants, the sound of their jaws cracking startling the men around them. Several bloodied teeth were scattered on the wooden planks, the Garlean shaking his hand out before eyeing his next victim.

“Piss off afore I let ‘im kill yer sorry lot,” the Miqo’te ordered as she watched their leader writhe in pain at her feet.

The group of thugs collected their injured members and scrambled down the path as a familiar man approached the companions from the opposite direction.

“Myraeda, ye alright lass?” The burly Roegadyn machinist approached her, concern evident in his expression. 

“Rostnsthal, what are you doing in Limsa Lominsa? I thought you were otherwise occupied in Ishgard with training the Hounds.” She resisted the urge to embrace the man, relieved to see a familiar face after the harrowing experience.

“It be business as usual, an’ the type to keep quiet at that,” he said, arms crossed as he studied the Garlean behind her. “Yer startin’ to sound like Joye with that mouth on ye.”

“You know I was raised in this city, friend. It’s the best way to handle those types.” She awkwardly laughed, her limbs visibly shaking.

“Yer bothered by it, I can tell. Between ye an’ that new companion o’ yers, I don’t rightly know why.” He eyed Zenos with suspicion. “Who is the bugger, anyhow?”

The legatus stayed silent, though he returned the same suspicious look to Rostnsthal as he listened to the two chatter.

“An…acquaintance of mine. A discussion to be held privately at another time,” she replied, her gaze drifting to her feet.

“A  _ special _ sort o’ acquaintance, then?” The Roegadyn let out a hearty laugh.

“I assure you that it’s nothing of the sort!” The Miqo’te furiously shook her hands back and forth at the man. “I…do have a request to ask of you, however. Would you kindly inform the Yellowjackets about those ruffians who ambushed us? I would hate for someone less than inclined to combat to be stopped by them… And advertising my presence is far from what I would consider ideal.”

“Aye, ‘twould be best, though talkin’ to the guard isn’t my cup o’ tea,” he agreed. “I’ll leave ye be, then. Don’t let yer guard down ‘eadin’ to wherever ye were goin’ in the first place. An’... consider drinkin’ a pint o’ somethin’ strong when ye get ‘ome.”

Rostnsthal took his leave, the pair left alone to their own devices once again.

“Do not heed his advice. I have no desire to see you intoxicated ever again,” Zenos stated bluntly, garnering a sad pout from his Miqo’te companion as they continued their journey homeward.

* * *

After a silent dinner, Myraeda found herself once again reading on the sofa that she had taken up as her bed. While somewhat uncomfortable, it was malms better than using a mattress from her siblings’ room, and her childhood bedchambers no longer had one to speak of. She was certainly envious of the sleeping situation she had provided for the Garlean, but she did not have the heart to kick him to the floor, even if he certainly deserved that and much worse. She found herself more comfortable downstairs as it was; the memories hit her more heavily whenever she needed to be on the second story, and she could not imagine staying up there overnight again.

Her ears perked up as she heard the telltale footfall of someone walking down the stairwell. She turned her head toward the source of the sound, meeting Zenos’s gaze as he approached the sitting area. His hair was still damp from bathing, bare chest glistening from whatever his towel did not manage to soak up. To her utter distress, he perched himself at the opposite end of the sofa rather than using his customary plush chair.

“What are you-“ she asked for the second time that day. She was subsequently cut off by a hairbrush bouncing off of her book and into her lap.

“Do it again,” he said, locking his eyes onto hers.

“Do what…” She set aside her tome on the table and picked up the brush to examine it. “Do you mean...brush your hair again? Why? You can manage it yourself this time, unlike then.” She let out a peal of nervous laughter, unsure of how to react.

The Garlean continued to stare at her, which only served to unnerve her more.

“...Fine, you spoiled princeling. At least turn around so I can reach it better.” Her frown masked her growing confusion, the enigma of the man’s behavior continuing to confound her at every turn. Was he not supposed to be solely concerned about his hunt and whatever that entailed?

Once again, her fingers were tangled in those golden strands as she worked the various knots out of them. She was surprised at just how quickly it became unruly, though that had been the original reason why she chopped off most of her own hair in the first place.

“Now that I have you sufficiently occupied, explain to me why you were so shaken after that ambush. You had nothing to fear from them,” Zenos spoke up once the machinist had established a rhythm to her work.

_ Godsdammit.  _ “I…” She paused for a moment to find the right words, knowing that regardless of how she explained it, the legatus would not understand. “I tire of hearing such slurs thrown around against Miqo’te women. The way they spoke… I did not fear for myself, but for the other women they have encountered in the past and will prey upon in the future. Just like they hinted at, my race is rather popular for…trafficking for usage at various... _ institutions.” _

“Trafficking…” he repeated the word with obvious distaste.

“I was under the impression that the Garlean Empire engages in similar activities. Why does it matter to you what savage women are used for?” Myraeda grumbled back.

“For labor purposes, perhaps. For such  _ base  _ motives, however…” He paused, lost in thought. “No such thing has been sanctioned by Garlemald proper. The activities of the rank and file, however, are another matter entirely.”

“You did not fully answer the question, Zenos.” She had stopped with her ministrations, waiting impatiently for the man to explain himself.

“...Loath as I am to say it, savages should have opportunities based upon their merit, regardless of their gender. Being forced to serve in such a capacity precludes that notion. For that reason, I have never been very fond of that type of establishment.” He sighed. “Do you wish for any more opinions on the matter, or is that sufficient?”

“A fair answer…” she mumbled, her brush strokes climbing closer to the man’s ears. 

“...Is the slur ‘Coeurl Fucker’ a rather common one in Eorzea?” he asked after a moment. His voice held curiosity and nothing further.

“W-What?” Blindsided by the question, she had to gather herself before replying. “It stems from what I explained earlier… The assumptions made about men of other races being with…Miqo’te women...are not particularly positive. ...Please, for the love of the gods, _don’t_ _ever_ _say that term again_.”

_ ‘I care little for what the Ishgardians would say of us. You, Myra, are all that matters to me. Until the very end and beyond.’ _

Her breath hitched at the memory forcing its way into her skull. 

“If it is truly of that much import…” He turned to her, raising an eyebrow as she used the opportunity to work on the sides of his hair. “I will avoid it, granted that you never again use that distasteful dialect in my presence.”

“That’s fine…” she murmured, her voice quiet enough that if she hadn’t been in such close proximity, Zenos would have missed it.

_ What are you hiding, my enemy? What dark secrets lurk underneath such strength? _ The same question had been on his mind for days on end. Why he even cared to know the answer, however… That was a mystery unto itself.

* * *

_ Meanwhile, in a secluded cemetery in Gyr Abania… _

A rare spell of rain was washing the dust off of the headstones, the letters engraved upon them worn with time and neglect. The splash of footsteps could be heard just above the roar of the wind, had anyone else been there to hear it. A hooded figure in white stopped just before an unmarked tomb, the structure still rather new compared to the various graves around it.

They pushed on the stone lid until it unceremoniously fell to the side with a thump.

The nauseating scent of several days’ worth of corpse bloat and rot would have made any normal person wretch well beyond what their stomach could hold. Some sort of viscous liquid had congealed underneath the broken and battered armor, and a katana had been placed on each side of the body. The corpse itself, however desiccated it had become, still had a full head of black hair.

“Most interesting. It appears that a change of plans will be required, then,” the figure spoke in low tones to themselves before replacing the lid.

As quickly as they had arrived, they disappeared into a rift of black smoke, and the graveyard was still once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this week forward, I'll be posting once a week for a couple reasons:
> 
> 1\. The chapters have gotten longer over time, so it invariably takes longer to write them.  
> 2\. My health hasn't been 100%, so the fatigue is making long spurts of writing difficult.  
> 3\. I have a fic I need to write for holiday gift giving purposes, and want to make sure I have time for that as well.
> 
> There may be a point when I return to twice a week (if I am able to write enough in advance). Currently I'm mostly through writing chapter 15 as a reference point.
> 
> Thank you so much again! This week I hit 1K hits and my heart soared. <3


	13. An Unexpected Visitor

_ Her father was the first of them to die that day. _

_ Before the voidsent had swept over them, the band of merchants, stationed on the outskirts of Mor Dhona, were overrun by a small contingent of the VIIth Legion. The group had been primarily from Limsa Lominsa and Ul’dah, and had been doing their utmost to aid the Eorzean Alliance with their demand for sundries, munitions, and crystals. With the majority already on the field at the Carteneau Flats, however, they had become an ideal target for supply raids. _

_ As the merchants and their families sat on boulders watching the lesser moon continue its terrifying descent, the Garlean contingent strayed silently into their camp. They only noticed when the first of them collapsed, a bullet piercing straight through their forehead.  _

_ The struggle, while chaotic, was ultimately futile. Few of them had the training to go up against the Garlean soldiers, and those that did were quickly outnumbered. They were faceless combatants, ruthless in their slaughter, seeming to revel in the screams they had forced out of their marks. Mothers ushered their children away, begged them to run, run, run far away and find somewhere to hide until the ‘morrow. _

_ Her father screamed at her to take her siblings somewhere safe. The blue-haired Miqo’te frantically waved at them, and to her utter disbelief, she saw him cry for the first time in her eighteen summers.  _

_ His pleas ended up becoming his undoing. _

_ A gunblade broke through the flesh of his chest, twisted once and then subsequently removed. A fountain of blood erupted from his mouth as his eyes focused on his family for the last time on this mortal coil. His Garlean assailant kicked his body as he collapsed to the ground, a final humiliation. _

_ They ran. _

For the umpteenth time in the last week and a half, Myraeda woke up in a cold sweat, her limbs trembling. She wished she could tear the fabric of her mind apart, numb it, somehow keep it from replaying the same scenes over and over like some sort of broken Allagan projection. With a strict ban on drinking after their first night in Limsa Lominsa, and with all the free time afforded to her while they laid low, she had little to distract herself from the growing torment of being trapped within the crypt of memories that was her home. 

The only thing that managed to afford any respite from the pain was their sparring matches, and truthfully it was the highlight of her days. She could forget everything other than the movement of Zenos’s blade, her brain focused solely on the moment and on avoiding the specter of death.

She wondered if he felt the same way.

She rose from the couch after a time, surprised to find daylight already peeking out from the windows. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic breathing of her Garlean companion, sprawled out on his customary chair. To her surprise, he still appeared to be sleeping deeply, unusual for the man who always seemed to be up and about before she even managed to pick herself up off the couch. She noted the chill of the room and the extinguished flames in the fireplace, hesitating briefly before deciding.

_ I may be a bloody idiot for doing this, but this bastard catching a cold is absolutely the last thing I need to happen right now. That is, if he’s even capable of taking ill… _

Having convinced herself of her reasoning, she plucked her blanket from the sofa, shaking it out once or twice before approaching the man. With a deep breath, she draped it over him, her hands shaking as she tucked the corners in around his broad shoulders.

He stirred ever so slightly, causing the startled Miqo’te to hop backwards, her tail swinging around wildly.

“What is this...warmth? This feeling…” he mumbled almost imperceptibly before he stilled, the deep breathing giving away to the lightest of snoring.

_ If he wasn’t such a terrifying individual, I would almost say he looks…cute like that… _

She shook her head furiously, chastising herself for even having such a thought.

_ I need a shower. _

* * *

As she opened the washroom door, steam trailing out behind her, she noticed the scent of eggs on the air. She began to wonder just how long her mind had been occupied while she bathed as she tip-toed down the stairs, hoping beyond hope that she could somehow catch the man off guard. Ever so slowly, she put one foot in front of the other, hugging the wall as she approached the kitchen. She raised her foot for the final step before—

“If you are attempting to ambush me, you are doing a poor job of it, Myraeda,” Zenos spoke from the kitchen, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “That you even thought you had the ability to do so was foolish of you.”

“You are such a bore!” she whined, entering the room to watch his work.

“I was not aware that I was entertaining a child,” he stated, transferring an omelet to a plate before shoving it at her. “Finish your meal before I change my mind and force you to cook your own poison.”

She begrudgingly made her way to the table, grabbing utensils along the way. After sitting down, she sliced off a sizable piece of the omelet and was bringing it to her mouth just as a sharp knock came from the front entrance.

The Miqo’te froze, almost dropping her fork to the floor. Other than perhaps her neighbors, no one should have known that she was here, and they knew not to call on her at such an early hour. She rose to her feet, exerting all of her willpower to keep herself from trembling before anxiously heading back to the kitchen.

The Garlean eyed her as she motioned silently at him, her index finger to her lips while she hurriedly pointed upstairs. Grasping the situation immediately, he extinguished the flames on the stove and swiftly strode up the stairs, taking care to make as little noise as possible even with his relatively bulky frame.

Another urgent knock echoed throughout the living room. Taking a deep breath, Myraeda approached the door, her nails digging into her palms.

_ Calm yourself, calm yourself, calm— _

She stood upon her toes and stared through the peephole.

_...Admiral Bloefhiswyn?! What are you... _

Feeling as if she were breathing seawater rather than air, she gripped the handle a little too tightly before finally opening the door.

“Lieutenant Palimpos, it is a delight to see you again,” Merlwyb said, giving a small, strained smile as she surveyed the Miqo’te still in her nightclothes.

“The same to you, Admiral. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” She straightened her back, attempting to project as much confidence as possible. Her damp hair and wrinkled shirt, unfortunately, were not helping in that endeavor.

“Perhaps it is a matter best discussed inside and beyond prying ears,” the Roegadyn replied, taking on a serious tone.

Myraeda gulped. 

“Of course.” She stood aside to allow the taller woman to pass her by before closing the door behind them.

Leading them back to the dining room table, she pulled out a chair for her superior. “Pray excuse me for the mess. I had just begun my breakfast the moment you arrived, and I hope finishing it before it cools would not be too untoward. May I offer you anything?”

“The gesture is appreciated, Lieutenant, but I am in no dire need of refreshments. Take some time to finish your meal before we begin our discussion.” Rather than sitting, the Admiral instead began to survey the various books on the shelves throughout the room.

What arguably had been the Garlean’s best attempt at cooking now tasted like sand in her mouth. She attempted to shovel the meal down her throat, anxious to finish up whatever business her unexpected guest had with her. Even if she _had_ been a good liar, she did not dare incur the wrath of the most powerful woman in Limsa Lominsa.

In a few minutes she had cleaned her plate, hurriedly handling the dishes in the kitchen before returning to the table. Her chest had tightened when she had noticed another half-cooked omelet growing cold on the abandoned pan on the stovetop.

_ He didn’t cook something for himself first…? Why… _

She abandoned all thoughts of the man as the Admiral settled down across from her. Much to her disappointment, she knew that she would never match the sheer intensity of the Roegadyn woman’s presence. Height notwithstanding, Myraeda had never managed to nurture a domineering personality, which had always been a point of frustration for her during conversations. Alphinaud had been the one to take on those types of responsibilities when she was around her Scion companions.

Now she was essentially alone and fending for herself, and it terrified her.

“I will begin by requesting the presence of your companion for our dialogue, as that is paramount to the topic at hand.” Merlwyb crossed her legs, her hands resting patiently on her lap.

_ Oh gods, don’t tell me… _

“I should have expected such an observation from the leader of a nation of pirates,” Zenos slowly descended the stairs, now fully dressed. His customary wry smile hid any indication of what thoughts were crossing his mind.

“If you could untie your hair and remove that strip of fabric from your forehead,” the Admiral spoke firmly as the man approached her.

Without a word, he acquiesced, placing the hair tie and covering onto the table before taking a seat beside Myraeda.

By this point, the Miqo’te’s nails had drawn blood from how tightly she was gripping the side of her thigh.

“As I suspected. Zenos yae Galvus, legatus of the XIIth Legion, viceroy of Ala Mhigo, and crown prince of Garlemald, I presume?” A small smile played at the Roegadyn’s lips. “Pray excuse me,  _ former  _ viceroy. I was under the impression that you were slain by your own hand.”

“That is the official story, yes,” he replied dryly as he studied the woman before him. 

“And yet here you are, alive and well, traversing incognito about my city with the Warrior of Light in tow.” The Admiral’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the Garlean. “What is your aim?”

“That question would be best answered by _said_ _Warrior_.” He shot a glance at the Miqo’te, who immediately stiffened.

“I…” Her heart raced as she attempted to come up with a satisfactory answer. “The Ala Mhigan populace was on the edge of revolt against the interim government due to my decision to spare his life. The Scions, Lyse, and General Aldynn came to an agreement upon how to handle the issue, and this was the result. I deeply apologize that Limsa Lominsa is where we ended up absconding to, but I believed it was the best decision at the time when considering the property that I own here.”

“Would they have informed me of this beforehand…” Merlwyb sighed. “The crux of the matter is this. Your unfortunate scuffle with that group of ruffians has caused some whispering among the less honorable of our denizens. They are wondering what sort of brute stoked up enough fear that some of the criminal underbelly have decided to lay low. While their inactivity is certainly  _ appreciated _ , the description of their assailant may cause certain...attention to be drawn to Limsa Lominsa.”

“If you were able to deduce my identity, you are assuming that any spies in the region may also pass that information onto Garlemald.” Zenos crossed his legs as he regarded the Admiral.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have let them run off…” Myraeda lamented. Her empathy had managed to bite her in the arse once again, and it frustrated her to no end.

“You were certainly put into a difficult position. Their deaths would also have invariably sparked rumors. However, having a prominent member of the _Garlean_ _court_ in my city is less than ideal, as you undoubtedly understand.” The Admiral’s tone was yet steady, but it still held a hint of harshness that continued to make the machinist highly uncomfortable.

“You would request for us to quit this place,” the legatus replied.

“While that certainly  _ is _ an option, I would offer a proposition that you may find more favorable.” The Roegadyn spent a brief moment searching her coat pocket before pulling out a hunting bill. “There have been a number of caravans that have gone missing between here and Wineport. We believe this is the culprit.”

The pair studied the reptilian bipedal creature on the sheet, noting the exceptional bounty on its head.

“A Bone Crawler? They are native to Gyr Abania, are they not? Passing strange that one managed to find its way to La Noscea, of all places.” The Miqo’te furrowed her brow. “I’ve never seen an S rank mark such as that in that vicinity before.”

“That is precisely why I am requesting the pair of you to slay it. The Grand Company is currently ill-equipped to handle the situation after aiding in the assault on Ala Mhigo,” Merlwyb explained. “I trust that you are more than capable candidates for the job.”

“And in exchange…?” Zenos questioned.

“In addition to the bounty, my men and I will aid in squashing the rumors currently circulating. We will also provide the necessary sundries in order to reduce your need for public appearances. In essence, I will offer you a safe haven, though I certainly  _ will _ be in contact with the Scions regarding the situation.” The Admiral turned to Myraeda. “What say you?”

She pondered the implications of the agreement. In addition to ridding the region of a nasty voidsent, she was curious as to Merlwyb’s intentions behind the deal. Her best guess was that the Admiral found some sort of value in keeping such a prominent political prisoner within arm’s reach, though she couldn’t be certain as to how much. Regardless of the woman’s motives, however, she was certain that it would be in her best interest to follow through with the deal. After all, declining what appeared to be a rather magnanimous offer from the leader of Limsa Lominsa would likely compound their predicament by several fold.

“I find the terms rather agreeable. If you would allow us time for preparation, we can set off upon the ‘morrow.” The Miqo’te nodded as she handed the hunting bill to Zenos.

“Very good. I will be awaiting your report, Lieutenant.” The Roegadyn rose from her chair, her attention drifting back to the Garlean. “I trust that you have him on a short leash.”

Myraeda followed suit, giving her commander a salute. “Exceptionally so, Admiral.” She couldn’t help but to chuckle darkly, much to the curiosity of her superior.

At that, the leader of Limsa Lominsa took her leave, the living room growing quiet once again. The machinist let out a lengthy sigh as she leaned against the back of the door. It was so early, and yet exhaustion was already taking its toll on her. Perhaps another shower was in order to hopefully try and reduce the building tension that had seized both her mind and body.

“Never did I think that the day would arrive where we would hunt together.” The legatus stood, closing the distance between them. It was then that he noticed the dried blood caked upon her thigh and underneath her fingernails. “Why did…?”

He stopped himself, unsure of why he had decided to question her about it. The wound was negligible and would not impede her ability in combat. And yet, there was this small sensation clinging to the back of his mind, one with which he was wholly unfamiliar with. A sense of...concern? Was that the word others used?

“Why did what, Zenos?” The Miqo’te’s ears perked up in curiosity.

“Never mind that. Of more import is that we are now beholden to your Admiral,” he deflected. “Dress yourself. We will discuss strategy afterward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving for the American folks! I decided to post this slightly earlier due to the holiday, so I hope you enjoy~
> 
> Please look forward to their unprecedented dual hunt next week! Until then <3


	14. Bounty Hunters

The midday sun filtered through the enormous palm trees, dancing upon the long untrodden path before them. Swarms of Dung Midges hung over what barely qualified as ponds while Gigantoads lay in wait for their next meal. The air was still unbearably sticky as if it were yet summer, and Myraeda could already feel sweat rolling down the small of her back.

She hated this part of Eastern La Noscea — she loathed the unrelenting heat, and lamented being born in such a horrifically humid climate. All that was on her mind was the blissful shower that awaited her upon her return home.

That is, other than the looming hunt with her experienced huntsman companion, whom she currently trailed behind.

They had spent the day prior triangulating possible locations that the fiend could be lurking in, using the Miqo’te’s knowledge of her homeland combined with a map that she had dug out from the bookshelves. From her experience on previous travails, she had mentioned that the area around Brayflox’s Longstop might be promising, to which Zenos had agreed. After a light supper, she had finally made the tense linkshell call that she had been dreading to the Scions explaining the situation, during which she could hear Thancred uttering various colorful curses in the background as she spoke to a rather anxious Alphinaud. The fact that the news of the Garlean’s survival had spread in any capacity was concerning, to put it mildly.

She had also managed to wrangle out information about the state of Ala Mhigo. From what she could gather from them, the city had taken the mock suicide well and was well on its way to stability. While they still had the Ananta tribes to monitor, their main consideration had become funding for the provincial government. On that end, the Scions were looking into rumors of the Mad King’s treasure underneath the palace, with Arenvald at the head of the expedition. Alphinaud had passed on the young Ala Mhigan’s disappointment at her not being able to join them on a proper adventure, and had insisted that would be the first thing on their agenda upon her return. 

She had smiled sadly at that sentiment. Return seemed an idea that felt malms and malms away, a nicety to mention in conversation, but exceptionally unrealistic given the circumstances. Oh, how she missed them so.

The only true point of contention left seemed to be Fordola rem Lupis. Lyse had insisted she had the situation under control, though Myraeda was hesitant to accept that information outright. After all, she had seen how they treated even the Warrior of Light when there was even a hint of pity for their former Garlean occupiers.

The conversation had ended on a somewhat worrisome note. For now, there had been only silence from the Garlean contingent, for better or worse. They were heavily monitoring whatever whispers came out of the capitol, of course, but there appeared to be an absence of anything circulating. Upon that news, or lack thereof, Zenos seemed rather pensive, the Garlean saying very little before retiring early.

At the crack of dawn, they had begun their short journey to Wineport on chocobo-back, the legatus having been able to borrow one from the Grand Company for the time being. While he appeared to be somewhat inexperienced with the steed, he had quickly adjusted, outpacing his Miqo’te companion. She still couldn’t help but to hold a grudge on that point.

_ The amount of MGP he would win at the chocobo races…  _ She had vowed that she would drag him to the Gold Saucer at some point and steal his winnings for a few prizes she had been eyeing for moons. It astounded her that she had even become comfortable enough around him to want him to join her on such a trip. As it had always been a solitary indulgence, not even the Scions had visited the establishment with her.

Her conflicted feelings on the matter lingered even now as they scoured the area for any sign of their mark.

“Why couldn’t they have made this godsdamned aetheric leash closer to 200 yalms long? It would be so much more convenient if we could split up…” Myraeda grumbled as she examined the soil for any footprints. The search thus far had yielded no information, with the sun already high in the sky. She could already feel her stomach beginning to rumble.

“If that were the case, you  _ do _ realize you have dragged me within a stone’s throw of Castrum Occidens? The absolute  _ ease _ in which I could attract their attention…” the man teased, his voice smooth as honey.

“Then you would lose your quarry, and that would be  _ most _ unfortunate,” she retorted, stifling a giggle. “Also,  _ dragged _ ? Your mood yesterday as we planned this expedition doesn’t match that description.”

“I will admit that a chance to test the limits of this enchantment is quite welcome.” He kneeled, brushing blades of grass aside as he searched for clues to the voidsent’s whereabouts. “Perhaps this hunt will end up being a worthy endeavor due to that very fact.”  _ Seeing her in combat with another foe, our efforts in tandem, will also be a sight to behold...  _ He silently mused, battle-lust itching to be sated.

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and the fiend will still be drunk from all the wine that must have been on those caravans,” she snorted. “I heard on the wind that it left absolutely no trace of them, not even bones to bury the dead.”

“Unlikely, though an intoxicated beast would certainly make for an unpredictable one. That would be quite interesting, indeed...” The Garlean went silent for a moment as he studied the ground before him. “Ahh, this looks promising.”

The Miqo’te kneeled beside him. She quickly noticed the three-toed footprint pressed deep within the soil, the indentations left behind from the voidsent’s claws rather prominent in comparison to the rest of the specimen. Pulling out the hunting bill once again from her jacket’s inside pocket, she compared the artist’s depiction of the Bone Crawler’s feet to the print below her. Looking to her companion, she nodded, flashing the man a toothy grin. 

Finally, their hunt could begin in earnest.

Silencing their steps, they followed the prints scattered among the weeds, the pattern at first erratic, then settling into a path heading into the cliffs. The beasts around them kept their distance as they passed by, some of them outright sprinting away at the sight of the pair. The sweet scent of the massive flowering stalks around them lingered well into their journey, stoking up memories of the Royal Menagerie in both of them. And yet, the circumstances could not be any more different. Those events felt as if they had occurred eons ago, even if the scars still burned brightly upon their skin.

They found themselves at the mouth of a cave tucked away in the cliffside, the metallic stench of blood permeating the air. Droplets of the red liquid were splattered upon the rocky outcropping around them, the source not readily apparent. Indeed, not even a hint of a corpse could be spotted in the area.

“Perhaps I should have brought my lance along instead…” Myraeda lamented as she attempted to peer into the darkness. “The risk of ricocheting bullets is far too great for me to feel comfortable facing it in there…”

“In that case, I will just have to lure it out of its den.” The Garlean smirked as he grabbed a stone off the ground, tossing it deep within the cave.

“Wait, we could have just ambushed—" She was cut off by the bone-chilling roar of something lingering far within the pitch black void. “...Fuck.”

“That would have bored me,” he replied, unsheathing his borrowed katana and backing up a few paces before he planted his feet into position. That feral sheen had returned to his azure eyes.

_ This man will be the death of me,  _ she thought, taking a brief moment to focus on her breathing. She closed her eyes as she listened for the telltale sign of the voidsent’s approach, her ears twitching at the effort.

_ There. _

She leapt to the side as the large, reptilian creature came barreling out of the den, her bullets blazing at its bulk. Its eyes, tiny as they were, immediately focused upon her, its maw widening into what could have been interpreted as a vicious smile. Lunging forward, the fiend attempted to clamp its jaws around the woman to no avail.

With the Miqo’te now holding its attention, Zenos rushed in, his blade poised to strike. Upon his approach, the Bone Crawler swung around, forcing the man to roll out of the way of the creature’s tail. 

Myraeda easily managed to avoid the brunt of the sweep. As her companion kept the fiend distracted, she scrambled higher up the cliff, using her leverage to fire off more rounds. They seemed to barely graze its leathery hide, however, and again she regretted not donning her typical dragoon attire and weapon for the hunt. She scoured her brain for ideas as the voidsent broke off from the Garlean’s assault and crashed its body into the outcropping below her.

One, two, three times it slammed into the rocks, attempting to force the woman off the cliffside. The legatus used the momentary distraction to move in and strike the creature’s broad forearm. It cried out as the blade dug straight into the bone, streams of crimson pouring onto the white stone underneath it. Suddenly, its other arm struck out in retaliation, knocking the man’s hat off and within ilms of taking his head along with it.

_ Much too slow.  _ His reaction times felt more sluggish, body protesting at the practiced actions that were second nature to him. Vowing to push his reins to their limits, he continued his assault, aiming for the fiend’s legs.

Myraeda stabilized her footing, her tail swinging wildly from the effort. Eyeing the Bone Crawler’s injured right arm, she began to focus her fire solely upon that weak point. With another ear-splitting roar, it charged into the cliff once more, this time violently knocking the woman off the rocks. Her jacket fluttered in the wind as she flipped in the air, bracing herself for the impact several yalms below.

It never came, as the Garlean was underneath her falling form in a flash. She landed roughly in his arms, her feline eyes opening to a beast-like smile that sent chills running down her spine. With a sharp intake of breath, she scrambled back to her feet, silently thanking the man for sparing her the bruising of the fall.

They proceeded to flank the fiend, Zenos focusing on its front while she took the back. As he endured the brunt of the onslaught, she aimed for its softer underbelly. Slowly but surely, they were chipping away at its strength, its movements becoming more and more erratic as it was further enraged.

With another deep slice into the creature’s hide, the Garlean’s feral laughter grew ever more frenetic. The dance of his blade was almost imperceptible, a steel monstrosity desperate to devour its prey. While the motions were a tad slower than what he would have preferred, he could still feel the satisfying sensation of his katana digging into the fiend’s flesh. Ever deeper he sliced into it, the Bone Crawler roaring in pain as blood began to trickle past its sharp, yellowed teeth and drip down its maw.

The Miqo’te seized the opportunity to rush up its back, using its elongated tail as a makeshift ramp. She dug her fingers into its scales and bony protrusions as it thrashed about wildly, climbing it as one would a rock face during an earthquake. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally reached the fiend’s head. Bracing herself with her legs, she once again grabbed her musketoon, aiming it point blank at the creature’s eyeball.

She pulled the trigger just as Zenos impaled his sword into the Bone Crawler’s throat, crimson rain coating his figure as he tore the blade across its flesh. A second shot fired, the woman taking out the other eye, and she leapt off the creature as it collapsed to the ground.

All she could hear was the frantic sound of her heart pounding in her ears along with the rising laughter of her companion.

“Ahh… What a show that was,” he sighed in satisfaction, wiping off the splatter of blood on his cheek. “A tad shorter than my liking, but well worth the effort.”

“The battle did not bore you, then?” She smiled softly as she slowly approached the man. Her eyes ran over the bloodstained fabric of his haori, impressed by just how easily he had made a mess of himself.

“Mmm… Perhaps it would have if I had access to my full capabilities. For the moment, though…” He took a second to stretch, joints audibly popping. “...A satisfactory endeavor.”  _ And your performance, my enemy, my friend...was marvelous. _

“...We need a trophy for the Admiral,” she realized as she studied the massive corpse before her. “Its claws should suffice, I think. Would you be able to carve a couple of them off?” She dug into her boot before tossing an elongated knife at the man.

“Gladly,” the Garlean said, snatching the weapon out of the air. Kneeling down over the Bone Crawler’s arm, he began to work the blade underneath the scales at the base of a claw, tearing the connective tissue with the skill of a medicus.

Meanwhile, Myraeda took the time to stretch her legs. She was pleased that she managed to get out of the encounter virtually unscathed, though once her mind wrapped around the reason  _ why _ , her cheeks flushed. It was wholly unnecessary for him to have caught her — she was a bloody  _ Miqo’te _ for gods’ sake, and landing on her feet was practically ingrained in her since birth. Yet, the pain the next morning would have been uncomfortable, to say the least. The action certainly wasn’t  _ unwelcome _ , but—

Her ears twitched as she heard movement coming from within the cavern once more. Her hand reached for her musketoon, blue-gray eyes glued onto the entrance. As the fiend slowly sauntered out of the mouth of the cave, however, her firearm fell to the ground.

_ No, that’s impossible. It can’t be…  _ Her entire body went limp, knees buckling before she collapsed.

Zenos immediately rose to his feet, the heavy panting of the approaching voidsent catching his attention. Its jaws snapped in the air, three vicious heads vying for supremacy as it headed toward the fallen Bone Crawler. It had a hulking canine form, its short, black coat unable to conceal the muscles rippling from each measured step. How the Cerberus had impossibly come to call the region home would be a puzzle for those versed in the study of voidsent to solve. 

All that mattered now, however, was the imminent threat to Wineport and the surrounding area. Or, at least, that would have been the concern of any reasonable person. The legatus only saw new prey for the hunt, a dessert to an already delicious meal.

But as he faced his new challenger, he noticed the fallen form of his companion out of the corner of his eye. Refusing to allow the creature to snatch his rival away from him, he engaged it alone, baring his teeth as he poised his bloodied blade for the first strike.

_ Entrails spilled out of her severed abdomen, intestines tangling around the fangs of the beast. Bloody froth burst from her mother’s mouth, the light in her eyes fading. _

_ “Run!” The words echoed in her head, screaming, begging, pleading. Oh, how she wanted to follow her in death, to leave the world that was already aflame as if it were the lowest layer of hell itself. She feared being the only one left, alone in the dark, the warmth of their love far beyond where she could reach… _

_ Why her? Why did she get to be the one who lived? Let the pain disappear into the sweet embrace of oblivion, let her feel their arms around her once more… _

“—eda.”

_ A voice? _

“—raeda.”

_ His voice. Why him...? Let him finally bring me the rest I crave. I welcome it. _

“Myraeda!” Zenos shook her shoulder violently, her eyes finally focusing on the present.

“Let it end…” she murmured, prompting another shove from the man.

“And what a pity that would be, in your state.” The annoyance in his voice was palpable, his brow furrowed as he forced the woman to her feet.

Blinking several times, she took in the scene around her. Both voidsent were long dead, a bloodbath that had threatened to stain her clothing had she not risen. The Cerberus appeared to only have a single head still attached to the rest of it. She shivered at the sight of it, quickly refocusing her attention on the man who was far too close to her. His clothing had been torn in several places, blood welling up from his shoulder and skin glistening with an uncharacteristic sheen of sweat.

“...You’re injured! How did it manage—"

“A paltry wound of little note. Refreshing, even, after all this time…” he cut her off. The enchantment had affected his reflexes more than he realized, a level of exhaustion settling into his bones that he had not felt since his teens. It was fascinating, really, the setback he had endured — how he wished to keep testing the boundaries of it, how perhaps it was a blessing in disguise to take him to new heights.

For whatever reason, however, the state of his companion perturbed him more than anything else. How had one of such strength succumbed to sheer terror, to a fiend that would have been of little consequence for her to take on alone?

“The trophies have been collected. You owe me an explanation upon our return. ...Do not disappoint me,” he stated flatly, turning around and heading down the hill.

Myraeda resisted the urge to vomit up whatever was left of her breakfast.


	15. Lament of Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Description of a medical procedure; brief mention of child death.

Her immediate instinct upon returning to Limsa Lominsa was to collapse on the couch, pull the covers over her eyes, and forget about the world for the next moon. Two distinct reasons kept her from giving into the temptation, however — she had absolutely no desire to attempt washing the blood out of the upholstery, and a certain Garlean was giving her the most unnerving stare. She had tried to convince him to clean himself up first, considering that  _ he _ was the one injured, but he had paid no mind to her words. In the end, she begrudgingly dug a max potion and some sort of disinfectant (had this one expired?) out of her bag and handed them to him before trudging up the stairs and into the washroom.

The scathingly hot water felt like heaven to her abused muscles, the tightness washing away down the drain along with the soap suds and a consistent stream of diluted blood. She always wondered why voidsent blood in particular stuck so stubbornly to her skin and hair, not to mention the matting it caused in her fur.

Her mind drifted as she scrubbed herself raw. She had never gone into depth about her past to much of anyone, even within the Scions. Alphinaud and Tataru were the only ones that she could recall explaining any of the details to, on some lonely night in Ishgard as wards of House Fortemps. With the young Elezen distraught over his failures with the Crystal Braves, she wished to share some of her own with him. More than anything, she wanted to show him that no one, not even the lauded Warrior of Light, was perfect.

Of course, it was incredibly clear how imperfect she was, considering the man who was insisting to hear an explanation about her horrific flashback in the middle of battle. She would have never believed just a few moons ago that she would have to share such painful memories with the crown prince of Garlemald, of all people. It was something so private and  _ personal _ , and the thought of telling her enemy about her experiences during the Calamity made her feel so incredibly vulnerable.

He was never supposed to know about this. No one was. And yet, for some godsforsaken reason, it was  _ this _ part of her that he was interested in.

She stepped out of the shower, furiously drying herself off before changing into her nightwear. Her tail drifted between her legs as she opened the door, body shivering from the rapid shift in temperature. As she descended the stairs, she noticed that Zenos was still right where she had left him, though he had evidently taken off his haori at some point. There was already bruising blossoming all over his form, with the wound on his shoulder bright red against his pale skin.

“...Did you use the disinfectant…?” she asked, her voice wavering ever so slightly. Her gaze wandered to the table, where the potion still sat unopened.

“Why are you so concerned for my well-being?” He turned around, his expression unreadable.

“My failures brought you to injury. I…feel it is my responsibility to help rectify the issue.” She couldn’t help but stare at her bare toes rather than the man before her.

“Few would wish to aid their enemies, and yet  _ you  _ seem to make a habit of it.” With a condescending sneer, he grabbed the bottle of disinfectant and flippantly tossed it at her. “Dispose of the empty bottle as you so please.”

Myraeda fumbled it in her hands, barely managing to catch it before it hit the floor. Grumbling under her breath, she brought it into the kitchen and added it to a growing group of empty containers that she had convinced herself she would reuse. She straightened her back and took a deep breath before returning.

“And yet… _ you _ shielded me from that fiend and caught me as I fell from the cliff. I’m sure you will just excuse it as preserving your prey until you eventually decide to conclude your sick hunt, but…” She stopped barely a fulm away from him and gave her best attempt at mimicking his wry smile. “Perhaps you are going a bit overboard.”

“Think what you will.” He was curt and to the point, refusing to push the matter any further. Truthfully, he did not yet know the answer for himself. A musing for another day, perhaps — did it truly matter in the end? 

Clearly it mattered enough for him to have essentially requested her personal history, and forcefully so at that. The strength of his quarry, his rival, was paramount to his interest, was it not? Any extraneous information was unneeded, or at least he had thought as such. Even so, the growing curiosity he had begun to feel about the inner machinations of her mind still lingered as strongly as the scent of iron on his skin. It was unnecessary, and yet…

The Miqo’te used the lull in conversation to visually examine his injury. The claw marks were deeper than she had realized, though it was difficult to tell exactly  _ how _ deep from her angle. Standing on her toes, she instinctively reached out a hand to his shoulder for a closer look.

The Garlean jerked back, his chair scraping against the floor. “What are you…?”

He resembled an injured beast to her, wishing to lick his wounds in solitary silence. Regardless of her reservations, she still wanted to take full responsibility. It didn’t matter  _ who  _ he was — it was still her fault, even if logic dictated that she was an absolute imbecile for wanting to help him. Her inclination to aid others whenever possible was once again back to bite her in the arse.

“Let me see it.” She gave her best impression of her mother’s stern voice, the selfsame voice that had ordered her to sit still as she dressed the scrapes and punctures a young Myraeda would always seem to return with after her “adventures” across their home island. She even remembered sitting in these very chairs as her mother examined her. Now it was her turn to be the adult.

Zenos spent several long moments staring into her eyes, the chronometer tick, tick, ticking away as the machinist became increasingly uncomfortable.

“Do as you please,” he finally relented, adjusting his seat to give her ample space to examine his maimed shoulder.

She tentatively approached him, steeling herself before placing a hand on the feverish skin around the wound. “If...you could hunch your back just a tad, that would make the process easier.” Why couldn’t she be the height of an Elezen, or even an average Highlander woman?

He quietly complied. The Miqo’te used her fingers to gently spread the severed skin, the smallest hitch of breath coming from the man. She gasped, her heart dropping as she noticed the partially exposed bone deep within the violently separated flesh. How did he manage the ride back from Wineport in this condition? Any normal person would have long passed out from the pain, and yet here he was, nonchalant about the whole ordeal. The thought of him having poured disinfectant on it made her visibly cringe, a pang of nausea running through her gut.

“Paltry wound, my arse. That fiend sliced you straight to the bone.” Frustrated, she left the Garlean to grab her pack, digging through it for some time before taking out a small metal case. She brought it back to the table, clicking open the clasp and pulling out a steel needle and silken thread. Using some of the gauze and a vial of rubbing alcohol also tucked inside, she diligently worked on sterilizing the equipment.

“You intend to stitch it,” he stated, watching her go through her practiced motions. He was mildly curious about just how much her bag could carry, and was beginning to believe that it had to be much larger on the inside.

“Would you rather find out what happens if I don’t?” She eyed the man as she proceeded to soak more gauze with a container of iodine. “Drink that potion before I force it down your throat.”

With a derisive snort, he followed her instructions, chugging the bottle down all at once.  _ Such a cruel medicus she has turned out to be. _

Once he had finished drinking, she began to apply iodine around the injury, her motions gentle and borderline soothing. As she completed the task, however, she had a frustrating realization — his positioning would not be conducive to the procedure, as she still didn’t quite have the leverage she wanted and his muscles were too taught when he was slouched over. She tapped her fist to her face as she considered her options.

“It’s not the most sanitary idea, but…” Her eyes drifted to the chocolate brown rug by the fireplace. “If you could possibly sit on the floor in front of the sofa…”

Briefly raising an eyebrow, the legatus headed over to the designated area. He avoided using his right arm as he lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs underneath him.

Myraeda dragged one of the wooden chairs over, then returned to the table to gather the surgical equipment. She proceeded to use it as a makeshift tray after thoroughly wiping it down with some additional alcohol. It only took her a few moments to thread the needle, her movements practiced and precise after several summers of makeshift stitching out in the wilderness. And with that, all necessary preparations for the procedure were complete.

She took a deep breath as she considered the best way to go about her task. It began to become embarrassingly clear to her that due to the placement of the wound, she would have to work from his front side rather than the back. And the best way to go about that would be…

“Stay absolutely still,” she ordered, swallowing down her nerves before kneeling over his right leg. Her heart raced as she took the needle in hand, swiftly making the first puncture before she changed her mind about the whole ordeal.

Zenos stiffened, though the pain felt duller than he had initially expected. Had the potion contained some sort of numbing agent as well? An unnecessary addition, truly, though he could have done without the feeling of the thread tugging at his skin, the small lump of the knot at the eye of the needle being pulled through along with it.

After the initial prick, his mind began to wander, thoughts drifting away from the sensations emanating from his shoulder to the pressure of her weight as she braced herself against his chest. It surprised him how oddly  _ nice  _ it felt — how the warmth of her body radiated around his thigh as her bare legs enveloped him, how she had inadvertently pressed her bosom against him as she worked. How did such softness intermingle with such strength? Why did his breath quicken from something so simple, and yet so utterly unfamiliar? Why did he have the sudden urge to place his hand on the small of her back, to pull her in closer and closer until she couldn’t escape his embrace? To devour her, to defile her, to...

It was nonsensical. She was nothing more than a beast to face, to watch as she annihilated her enemies with the fierceness of a fiend. His prey, and his prey alone. She would someday die at his hand, or him at hers.

And yet…

He began to feel a pleasant cooling sensation on his right side, opening his eyes to a swirl of green aether surrounding him. The pain continued to subside until he could only feel a dull ache in the torn muscle.

“I’ve finished,” the Miqo’te said, rising to clean her equipment. “My skills at the healing artes leave much to be desired, but that should help get the process started.”

He could feel a small pang of emptiness in his chest, the continuing unfamiliarity of his emotions starting to give him a headache. Reaching at his shoulder, he realized that she had already bandaged it with gauze and linen.

When did things around him start escaping his notice?

Myraeda gave him an inquisitive look before going about her business. It concerned her that the Garlean was silent throughout the whole process — she had expected some sort of sardonic remark at least once while she stitched him up. Gently shaking her head, she repacked the materials and finally collapsed on the couch with a relieved sigh.

Or, at least, she was momentarily relieved until realizing that she still owed him an explanation for the events earlier that day.

Zenos had evidently risen at some point; she could hear the pipes above her, the sound of running water filtering through the floor. She appreciated the extra time to develop her narrative, though she hoped he would do his utmost to keep the bandaged area dry. She didn’t need to add an infection to her growing list of anxieties. While it would certainly be one way to rid herself of him and possibly avoid the compulsion to preserve him, did she really desire that? Perhaps a little over a moon ago, but…

Nay, what mattered more was how she would tell her story, how she would recount the events of seven long summers ago. Was there any way to avoid him seeing her in tears once again?

The valves were shut off, and her chest seized up in turn. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, the wait agonizing, her mind going blank. And then, after an eternity, she heard the stairs starting to creak.

It was time.

The Garlean finally sat on the rug, his bare back against the base of the couch. He glanced at the woman behind him, whom had gathered herself in the corner, knees to her chest and a blanket tightly wrapped around her form. He was astounded by just how tiny and vulnerable she seemed, a frightened child hiding from the cruelty of the world.

Who was she?

“...You wanted an explanation for my cowardice.” She forced the words from her throat, the syllables wavering. “Would you prefer the simple version, or for me to go in-depth?”

He considered the choice for a few moments before answering. “As long as it takes, or until you begin to bore me. Whichever happens to come first.”

She briefly narrowed her eyes and considered kicking his good shoulder. “In that case… From the beginning, then.” Pushing all extraneous thoughts to the side, she took a deep breath before beginning her tale.

_ “My parents were merchants with loose ties to the East Aldenard Trading Company. They handled some of the shipping routes between Kugane and Limsa Lominsa, and we had quite a comfortable existence due to that. It certainly kept some of the judgmental eyes off of us, as my mother was a Seeker and my father a Keeper. If you are not already aware, mixed race Miqo’te are not necessarily viewed well among our kind, especially when it comes to the stricter of our tribes. Indeed, that is why we settled in Limsa Lominsa in the first place — traditionalism can be forgotten here, as well as the naming proprieties that come along with it. _

_ I was an only child for the first seven summers of my life before my sister Liora came into the world. My brother Caspian followed less than two summers later, and things became so much more lively afterward. I can vividly remember being jealous of the attention showered upon them, and found myself escaping to the very cove which we now spar at. It was there that my sense of adventure was kindled, there that I would practice with a wooden stick that I had fashioned into a makeshift sword while my parents were otherwise occupied.” _

“Is all of this exposition truly necessary?” Zenos sighed, leaning back into the bottom cushion. 

The Miqo’te folded herself further inward as the man stretched his left arm across the sofa. “I assure you that I am getting to the point! Now quiet yourself and  _ listen.” _

_ “It was my eighteenth summer when Dalamud began to fall from the sky. For whatever godsforsaken reason, instead of hunkering down here at home, my family decided to travel to the outskirts of Mor Dhona to set up shop for the Eorzean Alliance. I had begged and pleaded for us to remain here — the thought of traversing anywhere near Carteneau Flats made me want to tear my skin apart. But I was dismissed as an unruly teen, that I didn’t understand good business sense. My siblings were also utterly enthused with the idea of going on an adventure to parts unknown. I felt so alone in my anxieties… If they had only listened to me…” _

Myraeda could already feel her throat growing tighter, her fingers clamping onto the velvety fabric of her blanket.

_ “As you probably have surmised by now, on the day the moon fell and Bahamut tried to tear our world asunder, we were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Our group of caravans was ambushed by a stray contingent of the VIIth Legion. We were easy pickings for supplies, after all — whatever soldiers that would normally have guarded us had gone off to fight at Carteneau. The Garleans swept our encampment, and all I could do at the time was watch on in abject horror. My father…” _

She paused briefly, grimacing as she tried to spit out the words.

_ “My father was struck down in front of me as he screamed for me to hide my siblings away. I saw the very light go out of his eyes as a gunblade pierced straight through his chest, his faceless assailant kicking his motionless body aside as if he were little more than a pile of dirt. Now that I think about it, that was the first time I had witnessed the death of another person. Oh, and how many deaths there were yet to come that day…” _

Even in the fading daylight, he could see the telltale sheen of liquid beginning to pool in her eyes.

_ “We ran, and ran, and ran… I had to carry my younger brother in my arms at one point when he didn’t have the strength to carry on. And then…” _

Her breath hitched, her tail curling tightly around her legs as she rested her head on her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing to relive the gruesome scene for the second time that day.

_ “I had found an indentation in the rock face that a thicket of bushes had conveniently grown in front of. There was just enough space for my siblings to hide, and I promised I would return for them. I couldn’t leave my mother behind, not after what had happened at the encampment. At least…that’s what went through my mind at the time. But what big sister leaves her siblings behind to fend for themselves? What pathetic excuse of a child was I to not heed my father’s final words and protect them with my life? _

_ But in the end...I did head back. The flames had begun to rain from the sky, the smoke filling my lungs, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. Where were you then, I wonder? Watching the sky safely from afar in your palace as the rest of the world burned? _ ”

“Go on,” was all that the Garlean could offer her. How did one react in such a situation? It was beyond him.

_ “One of those shards of Dalamud must have fallen not far from me, as the earth shook and in an instant I was plunged to the ground. Death perhaps would have been a mercy, then… Instead, I smelled the stench of blood, offal, and brimstone above me. I opened my eyes to one of the maws of a Cerberus drooling a mixture of gods know what onto my head. I didn’t have the strength then to fend it off, and so I...froze. I had hoped it would believe me dead and wander off to find something else to feed on — and my wish was granted in the worst possible way imaginable. _

_...My mother had found me, and sacrificed her life to give me time to escape. I...I saw the fiend rip her apart… Saw her become little more than a cur’s chew toy. Half of her body…” _

Her arms were all that held her together now, all that kept each loosening screw and cog in place so that she wouldn’t collapse into a fit of despair. The taste of iron slowly filled her mouth as she realized she had bitten into her lip too forcefully.

She had to finish it now.

_ “And I ran again, onward and onward to where I had left my little brother and sister. The bushes had burst into flames, an inferno from what must have been the bottom layer of hell blazing around me. I...I… In the fire, I saw… I saw… _

_ Liora, Caspian… Please forgive me...” _

She broke, the cracks in the dam bursting forth until the land was overrun. Why was it her? Why was she the one who still lived on? She should have been there for them, should have held them in their last moments, should have...

She felt a thump on the couch next to her, and then, unbelievably, the warmth from Zenos’s hand as his fingers ruffled through her hair. Her watery eyes blinked open in confusion. The day had already given into night, leaving only the dim light from the stars and the city to see the look of consternation on his face.

Her sobbing grew in intensity, body shuddering with each gasp, wave upon wave of sorrow crashing into her. And throughout it all were those back and forth movements on her scalp, dipping behind her ears briefly, moving in an uncertain rhythm.

She collapsed onto her side and into his lap, crying herself into oblivion.

That day had offered him a myriad of indescribable feelings, this complex puzzle of unknown emotions with no cipher provided. But in the end, there was one thing absolutely clear to him.

He was not to stir until she had awoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an incredibly heartbreaking chapter to write out. Poor Myra has dealt with so much loss, and this was the beginning of it. *hugs her*


	16. Interlude: The Emperor and the Emissary

_ Meanwhile, in the Imperial Capital of Garlemald… _

“It appears that the news of your son’s passing was greatly exaggerated.” The man in white loomed at the entrance to the airship control room, watching the Garlean emperor from behind his ever-present mask. The room was otherwise empty, his words giving away to the constant clanking of the machinery working around them.

Varis zos Galvus did not deign to turn around to reply. His hulking, armored figure cast shadows among the various controls, the yellow screens displaying an idle star icon. While he did not wish to give the man any semblance of attention, the information he had arrived with was certainly of some note. “Where did you receive this intel, Ascian?”

“As always, I have my methods.” Elidibus gave a wry smile. “What is the Eorzean Alliance’s reasoning behind this ruse, I wonder? That is, if their leadership as a whole are even aware. It seems in my mind that a small number of actors wish to keep the legatus alive against their better judgement.”

“Unless they have sufficiently shackled him to do their bidding, the rogue princeling is of little consequence to Garlemald’s machinations. There are more important matters at hand.” The Garlean’s tone was dismissive, and held an undisguised layer of contempt. Would the Ascian not leave him in peace?

“Are you not heartened to hear of your son’s survival?” he asked, his footsteps echoing on the steel flooring.

“He amounts to little more than a monster, and is unworthy as an heir to the throne,” Varis replied curtly. Why did he insist upon pressing this point? 

_ And yet, have you not considered your role in what he has become? _ “Losing such a valuable test subject is a pity, truly, especially when considering his newfound power in controlling the Resonant. You  _ are _ aware that he briefly fused with an eikon that rivaled even Bahamut? Does that not defy your nation’s creed to restore balance and rid the world of those abominations?”

The emperor did not respond.

“In essence, Zenos has become a liability due to the unpredictable nature of his actions moving forward. Locating him should be of the utmost priority, lest he becomes a thorn in Garlemald’s side. Or would you prefer for a potential defector of his aptitude to be roaming out of your sight?” the Ascian posited, crossing his arms as he waited for any sort of answer to come from the man. He almost wished it were Emet-Selch he had to deal with rather than this stoic rock of a Garlean. The successor was meant to be pliable, a means to an end, and yet Varis seemed so hellbent on his own convictions. What an unruly tool he had turned out to be.

As much as he loathed to admit it, the Garlean emperor knew that the man’s rationale was sound. “I will consider sending out a small, elite contingent to carry out the task.”

“It matters little whether or not he is still among the living upon his return. You have a monster within your ranks that is specifically trained for smoking missing Garleans out of hiding, do you not? A beast to sniff out a beast… How appropriate that would be.” Elidibus, of course, would have preferred a dead body over a live one in terms of sheer usefulness. How easy it would have been to use the legatus’s visage to his benefit...

As things stood, however, ridding the Source of this unexpected variable, of this possible roadblock, came first and foremost. It certainly made for difficulties in planning for the Eighth Umbral Calamity — after all, how would such a wild card affect their schemes? The others would accuse him of being a worrier for the very thought, but he felt it best to swiftly nip the problem in the bud. Hopefully Zenos would prove to be easier to dispatch than Eorzea’s meddling champion.

“You speak of Vitus quo Messalla and his criminal band of Alaudae,” the emperor stated, his lifeless eyes still focused on the various ceruleum-powered mechanisms before him. The savage commander made his son look like a tamed cur by comparison, and even Varis of all people found discomfort in dealing with the man. But loosening the hound with fleeting promises of promotion  _ did _ seem like the most convenient way of handling the issue. Even in the event of failure, the Elezen’s death would certainly not be unwelcome.

“Indeed. Whatever method you end up selecting, let it be effective. We cannot afford to waste any more precious time when the production and testing of your new weapon is proceeding apace. As you so clearly stated, we do have other matters to attend to.” And with that, Elidibus tore open a dark rift in the aether and vanished into a cloud of smoke, leaving Varis to his own devices once more.

_ You forget yourself, Ascian. It is by my will and my will alone that Black Rose will be utilized. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter this week, though I had to get the plot moving somehow lol.
> 
> And a big thank you for all the kudos! I hit 100 over the past week and it means so goddamn much to me. I love you guys <3
> 
> I do promise next week's chapter makes up for it~


	17. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: NSFW, can be construed as dubcon (alcohol involved with both parties)
> 
> Obligated "please do not try their drinking game at home, that would be a terrible, terrible idea".

Time is a fickle thing. There are moments that seem to last for eternity, or they can become like a coursing river, the turns of the sun becoming moons with the swiftness of water rushing through one’s fingertips. And a coursing river it was throughout their time together in Limsa Lominsa. Had it been a week? Two weeks? A moon, perhaps? Their routine had blended together, a solitary existence within the confines of their isle and temporary home, interrupted only by the occasional delivery of supplies.

The days had grown shorter, the nights colder, and whenever Myraeda was alone deep into the night, the shadows of flames licking up the walls around her, she thought of him. The very air had felt different since that fateful day she told her tale. She had laid herself bare to him, to  _ Zenos yae Galvus _ of all people, and he…tried to  _ comfort _ her?

She vividly remembered waking to his scent at the crack of dawn, a light musk that she had found surprisingly calming in her groggy haze. Her eyes had cracked open to the man’s sleeping face far above her, his expression serene, peaceful, as if everything was somehow right with the world. And it had made her chest seize up in panic.

She had attempted to scramble off of him, had attempted to run away from the growing implications of this sickening feeling of comfortability. But his arm had unconsciously clamped down over her, and she was trapped with her increasingly darkening ruminations until he roused. What would the Scions think of her if they saw her now? That ever present word repeated over and over again in her mind, echoing in her skull like children taunting their peers — traitor, traitor, traitor.  _ Myraeda Palimpos, you are a godsdamned traitor to Eorzea, to Doma, to your friends and allies that count on you. You are unworthy of your accolades. You deserve to be strung up, hung, tortured, made to suffer for your crimes. How dare you find any solace in your enemy? How fucking dare you! _

Ever since then, she had tried to distance herself from the Garlean, with varying degrees of success. She was convinced that she had finished most of the books within the household while the man healed from his injury, and in his tedium he had likely done the same. While they shared few words, his constant presence in the living room irked her to no end. Why wouldn’t he just leave her to her own devices? In the beginning she had consistently complained about it, but for whatever reason he continued to be unyielding on the issue. Only his need for sleep seemed to tear him away, leaving just the nights for her to claim for herself.

But it seemed that even the very nights belonged to him, a tumultuous string of thoughts teasing at her until sheer exhaustion took her into the realm of dreams. There his visage would return, a specter haunting her, hunting her down until she was trapped beneath him, and then…

How had he managed to do this to her? The constant back and forth of her brain shoving him away, of her wanting to cling onto him, the conflicting desires tearing her apart until she wished to rip her very heart from her chest. If the time came, would she indulge herself, would she break down the barriers between them until nothing else mattered but their little island of existence? Or would the judgmental faces of her Scion family burn behind her eyelids until she asked them to handle the matter she clearly lacked the ability to deal with herself? 

There was that choice again, thrown at her long ago but now more pertinent than ever — to accept or deny him. If only she could read his enigmatic thoughts…

She was certain on one point, however. She needed copious amounts of alcohol, and soon.

It was late into the Sixth Astral Moon, and the sun was setting on another uneventful day in a string of growing monotony. She needed  _ something  _ to happen, and soon — could the Scions not recall them to new vistas? She screamed for  _ adventure _ , to delve into dungeons, to take down bloody gods. Their sparring sessions barely sated her now, as Zenos had finally reached the limit of the enchantment, much to his utter frustration. And with Merlwyb keeping such close tabs on them, there was little else they  _ could _ do.

So she had snuck in a request for the strongest brew they had in the city, a Limsan specialty made to knock even the most hardy Roegadyn off their feet — Leviathan’s Fury. She honestly had no idea what the drink consisted of, but if it was as powerful as it was purported to be, maybe it would do the same to the Garlean prince. The thought was amusing and held a hint of danger that she gladly welcomed. 

It had been delivered earlier in the day, hidden in their normal crate of provisions along with a generous gift of red wine from the Wineport vineyards. She had carefully hidden the stash underneath the couch while Zenos had been distracted organizing the other sundries in the kitchen. She then impatiently waited until the right opportunity presented itself to finally indulge in one of her more unsavory vices.

As Myraeda stoked up a new fire in the fireplace, the Garlean strode up the stairs, and she could distantly hear the door to the washroom opening and closing. She scrambled to grab the bottles and sprinted into the kitchen for glasses, and with seconds to spare she finished her preparations. With a wicked grin, she took the first sip of the potent wine right as he returned.

The man’s eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. Multiple bottles littered the expanse of the table, and a second glass had been set aside, filled with a blueish-green liquid of unknown origin. He raised an eyebrow at her before proceeding to join her on the couch.

The Miqo’te instinctively scooted back into the corner, cradling her glass protectively. “If you attempt to steal this away from me, I swear to the Twelve and whoever else may be listening that—“

“Your concern is unwarranted. In fact, you seem to have provided us with a tool to combat this monotonous existence.” He picked up the glass from the table, giving it a quick sniff as he considered it. “The scent of wormwood… A sort of absinthe?”

“I honestly have no idea. Whatever it contains, it’s unfortunately far beyond my tolerance. But perhaps for you…” She paused, taking another long sip. “A gift in exchange for lifting your ban on alcohol, if you so desire.”

He brought the cup to his lips, downing the drink in mere seconds. “As long as you plan on entertaining me.”

“A tall order, coming from you.” The machinist giggled as she finished her first glass, quickly pouring another for both her and her companion. “What are you even expecting of me? A dance? A bard’s tale? If so, you’re asking the wrong Miqo’te.”

“Hmm…” He mused on the subject for a few moments before giving her a wry smile. “Grab one of the knives from the kitchen.”

“Excuse me?” she stammered in shock. Nothing good was about to come of this, not with that dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Do not make me ask you again.” His tone bordered on threatening, and he continued to stare her down until she finally rose to her feet.

Myraeda dug through the knife drawer, visually examining each one before settling on a smaller, thinner blade. She was starting to have an inkling as to just what he was planning on suggesting, and anything larger would have put her at an extreme disadvantage. Even so, she knew just how razor sharp these utensils were — the Garlean demanded absolute perfection from his prized kitchenware that he had requested with a sizable chunk of their bounty. How he had managed to become so fascinated with the culinary arts was still beyond her, but she was certainly enjoying the fruits of his newfound hobby.

“I wasn’t aware that you found Limsan drinking games to your liking. When did you pick up a taste for such savage pastimes?” she asked, placing the kitchen knife down on the table before rejoining him on the couch. Risking her fingers should have long scared her off from the activity, but there was just something about the brush with danger, about the feeling of the blade being within fractions of an ilm of her skin, that was absolutely exhilarating to her.

“Ahh, so you  _ are  _ familiar with five finger fillets. The subject happened to appear in one of the many tomes on the shelves. The additional element of  _ alcohol  _ you savages add to the game, however, was an entirely new notion to me.” Zenos took the knife in hand, studying it momentarily before handing it to the woman. “Why not give a demonstration before we begin?”

“Only if you finish the rest of your glass, you coward,” she huffed, spreading the fingers of her left hand out on the tabletop. With deft precision, she stabbed between each digit in quick succession, flawlessly completing the row. “Simple. Playing to ten rows should suffice, yes?”

His expression had darkened at her accusation, and instead of just a single glass, he downed two additional shots along with it. If absolutely anything, Zenos yae Galvus was  _ not _ a coward. “Fifteen. Nonnegotiable.”

“Deal.” The Miqo’te gave him a toothy grin, baring her fangs with feral glee. She handed the knife back to him, and with that, their reckless competition had begun.

The thud of the blade stabbing violently into the wood resounded throughout the house, and somewhere deep within her increasingly intoxicated mind, Myraeda realized how damaged the table would be upon the ‘morrow. But it mattered little compared to their high-risk game, this spark of joy in the recent ennui of their existence. Oh, how it excited her so.

The Garlean shared in her utter delight, though his attention had drifted to watching her expression as she went through her clearly practiced motions. That bestial look in her eye, her savage smile, the violence in her actions as she reveled in each and every row she completed… This was what he had craved from her ever since their very first meeting. While she had certainly turned out to be a much more complicated creature than he had ever anticipated, the undercurrent was yet there — how he so dearly wanted to nurture it, to help her to realize her full potential. In his growing haze, the desire compounded upon itself until it was almost unbearable.

Seven, eight, nine rows in, and the machinist forced the man to consume even more of Leviathan’s Fury as a handicap. His fingers could splay much too widely, she had proclaimed, and the unfairness had to be rectified. Half of her own bottle of wine seemed to have simply vanished already, but the generosity of Wineport would continue to let the liquid flow unabated.

This moment was all that mattered to them, the rest of the world be damned.

It was her fifteenth and final row when the alcohol caught up to her. She uttered a stream of curses when the knife plunged into the side of her index finger, droplets of blood immediately beginning to pool on the table. Before she could scramble to find something, anything, to dress the injury with, Zenos snatched her hand away from her, turning it this way and that as he examined it.

“I do not believe you can continue in this condition,” he stated, the blunt assessment making the woman whine in protest. “I win.”

“I will not concede, you bastard!” She struggled to pull her hand away from his iron grip.

“Oh, but you will.” He watched in fascination as the crimson beads rolled down her palm and over his hand before plopping onto his loose pants. As they slowly soaked into the black cotton fabric, whatever sound judgement he may have had disappeared with the rest of his inhibitions. “And I  _ will _ have the spoils of my conquest.”

Myraeda watched on in horror as the Garlean brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss at the base of her wrist before dragging his tongue across her bloodied palm. Slowly, agonizingly, he followed the trails her blood had left behind until he reached their source. His hungry azure eyes locked onto hers, and with a wicked grin he slipped her finger into his mouth.

She could feel his tongue circle around the digit, the combination of the warmth and wetness with the gentle friction against her skin giving rise to a long forgotten sensation deep within her belly. Her heart raced wildly, threatening to break out of her chest. And all the while, he never stopped watching her.

Zenos gradually drew her finger out of his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing over it. His gaze drifted from her face and down the length of her body, pausing briefly at the swell of her chest, watching as it erratically rose and fell before his eyes traveled upward once more. How he reveled in the effect he was having on her, how he enjoyed her face twisting in confusion but her dilated eyes telling a different tale entirely. There he saw a yearning, subtle yet altogether real, and he felt something utterly primal awaken within him.

She cried out as he pinned her down, his large form looming over her, overshadowing her, making her feel like a rodent in the grasp of a cat’s claws.

“Why do you tremble so?” he breathed in her ear, running a finger across the soft line of her jaw. 

Her ears twitched, the feeling of his alcohol-laden breath both terrifying and a welcomed gift. “Zenos, I…”

“You what, my lioness?” His voice was husky, laying bare the growing desire taking over every ilm of him. His head dipped to her neck, tongue running along her skin before stopping at the gentle slope of her shoulder. There, he dug his teeth violently into her flesh.

Myraeda’s body jerked up beneath him, held down by rough hands restraining her arms. The sensation was not entirely unpleasant, the pain giving way to waves of sweet adrenaline coursing through her. Why did his mouth have to feel so  _ godsdamned good _ to her? The intense pressure of him sucking at her, the wonderful wetness of it all… Her eyes shut as he felt his lips travel down the length of her collarbone, the Garlean leaving his harsh markings all along the way.

He suddenly paused, lifting his head up and studying her expression with half-lidded eyes. “Answer me,” he purred the command.

“It feels…” She hesitated before continuing. Even with how hazy the wine had left her mind, she knew the weight that her words would carry. “You’re so warm… It feels wonderful…”

“Does it, now?” He gave her a feral grin, one of his hands sliding down to the bottom of her shirt. He slipped it underneath, the Miqo’te shivering from the unfamiliar touch on her bare skin. Calloused fingers brushed against the tight musculature of her stomach before moving upward, finally stopping to cup her breast.

She let out a soft gasp, her toes curling inward from his thumb lightly rubbing against her hardening nipple. Her tail instinctively curled around his waist. She could feel the ache, the need, emanating from between her thighs, and as his head moved lower she clawed into his back.

Zenos gave her a small, pleased groan — the pain of her fingernails was welcomed, craved, a desire almost rivaling the hunt itself. He moved to lift her shirt past her ample chest and to her neck. It was strange and new to him, this intense feeling of excitement from seeing her bared in front of him. A room full of dozens of nude women pining for him would never compare to this, this fine specimen of strength, of skill, of softness, even…

Why, oh why did it feel so blissful to have his lips surrounding her nipple, this magnificent beast lapping at her as if he were a starved man? The slight tickle of his golden locks brushing against her skin as he moved, that beautiful hair she wished to entangle her fingers in… In her mind, she screamed for him to go lower, lower, lower, until…

His head traveled a few ilms upward, biting into the velvety flesh of her breast, claiming it as his own. Satisfied with his handiwork, he rested his cheek on her chest, listening intently to the pounding of her restless heart. What a beautiful song of her survival, her gripping onto life just long enough to bring them to this moment. How right he was to spare her life.

“The Champion of the Savages writhing from the simplest of touches…” he spoke the words into her skin, the vibrations from his throat making the Miqo’te shiver. “What would your Scions say if they saw you beneath me, being slowly defiled by your enemy _and_ _enjoying every last second of it_?”

Her eyes shot open, the sentence striking lucidity back into her skull. She slammed her knee into his stomach, scrambling out from underneath him before she ran straight out the door and into the night.

“Perhaps I’ve said too much…” He sat up on the couch, his eyes still glued to the entrance well after she had left. The ache left behind, whether in his belly, between his legs, or otherwise, was an annoyance that he could deal without. What inconvenient reminders of the prey that had escaped his clutches, let alone that feeling... How could he even describe something so intangible? It was as if he were left out in the frozen wilderness of Ilsabard to fend for himself.

His muddled thoughts were interrupted by a prickling feeling at the base of his neck. His hand unconsciously rose to the ornate choker encircling it, his thumb running along the expertly crafted vines. While he had long ago become accustomed to its constant presence, only twice had he had the displeasure of feeling this particular sensation. And he certainly was  _ not _ about to let it escalate again.

With a frustrated sigh, he headed out the door.

* * *

“So the rumors were true. And that prowling lioness is with him… What a fortuitous turn of events,” the Elezen commander mused quietly as he stared through his spyglass.

His contingent watched the pair from a nearby cliffside, hidden by the new moon and the shadows of the surrounding trees. After so many dead ends and false whispers, they had finally shaken the information out of a barmaid with a grudge. Even though her testimony came from an encounter almost two moons ago, luck had been on their side.

Vitus quo Messalla smiled. Perhaps a promotion to legatus was in his future after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I am Zenos yae Galvus, and welcome to Jackass."
> 
> Merry Christmas Eve, to those who celebrate~
> 
> Apologies that you have been gifted cockblock, but I promise the wait will be worth it.
> 
> I hope so, anyway. >_>;;


	18. Rondo of Blood

Her eyes ran over the reflected image of her bare chest in the mirror, the evidence of the prior night’s escapades staring back at her. Blossoms of purple and red ran down the length of her collarbone, and she swore she could make out the outline of his teeth right at the base of her neck. The singular mark left on her breast made her face flush a dark pink, her ears flattening.

_ Myraeda Palimpos, what have you done? _

Unfortunately for her, she remembered every last second of what had occurred the night before. It utterly frustrated her that he had been able to unravel her so easily — his fingers, his lips, his tongue setting her aflame far beyond her imagination. Much to her embarrassment, she  _ had  _ idly fantasized about such activities in the past, but it was never something she had desired to act upon. Nay, it was forbidden, taboo, a sinful indulgence meant to be locked away within the farthest reaches of her mind.

_ A traitorous act, Myraeda. You were never meant to find pleasure in the whims of that murderous Garlean prince. _

When had things changed between them? When had those impulses appeared in his mind, strong enough that once the barriers of rationality were broken down, he acted upon them? She had never noticed any inclination, never heard any of the intentions that other men would have voiced long before this point…

_ He stares at you. He refuses to leave you alone.  _

Perhaps the lack of separation and the monotony had caused it? Another way to somehow alleviate the boredom of his existence? It didn’t matter who, as long as they entertained him, right?

_ His obsession was there long, long ago. He deemed everyone else as unworthy. It was only ever you. _

She wanted to vomit, to tear her skin apart until there was nothing left of her. Why, godsdammit, did it always have to be  _ her? _

And why, by the Twelve, did she have to  _ enjoy it? _

There was not enough soap in Eorzea, in the entire world, to cleanse herself of this madness. And as she dressed herself for sparring, cringing at how visible the markings were, she dreaded descending the stairs. To see his probing eyes as he examined her, his reaction to his violent handiwork... What would he do? What would he  _ say? _ Seven hells, what would the  _ Scions _ say if they saw her now?

Oh, how the sweet embrace of death would have been such a mercy.

A deep breath, and she was out the door. She would meet the challenge as she always did — steadfast, stoic, and with a strained smile. At least, that had been the hope before her sock managed to get caught in a loose floorboard on the stairs.

She felt herself sliding downward, her adrenaline pumping as she futilely grabbed at the railing. The wood slipped through her fingers, and she attempted to prepare herself for a painful landing.

Rather than crashing into the floor below her, however, she slammed into the broad chest of her Garlean companion, his arms wrapping around her before she could collapse. Shuddering, she tried to steady her breathing as her gaze traveled upward to his face, where she found an unexpected look of  _ concern _ . Cheeks reddening once again, she silently thanked the gods that he was at least  _ clothed _ for the humiliation, though the thought did little to calm her pounding heart and spinning head.

“Are...you planning on letting me go?” the Miqo’te sputtered after a few moments. His arms felt exceptionally tight around her small form, and squirming out of them would invariably result in another painful tumble downward. Seven hells, she was close enough to hear his  _ heartbeat _ — and it, too, pounded at the same frenetic rhythm as hers.

_ The Twelve strike me down now. This is too much. Too. Much. _

“That depends. Do you plan on rolling down the stairs like a wine casket again? I was under the impression that your kind landed on their feet.” Zenos pushed her away from his chest, roughly steadying her on the step above him.

“You don’t have to be such an utter  _ arse _ about it, you know…” she grumbled back, slipping past him before grabbing her pack in the dining room and heading to the front door. “Are you coming or not?”

As they headed to their usual spot, Myraeda did her best to stay ahead of the man, even if it meant jogging part of the way. The less she saw of his face, the better, she surmised — avoiding any further embarrassment was of the utmost priority. And truthfully, the thought of knocking the bastard to the ground during their sparring match was the only thing keeping her spirits up.

But upon arriving at their cove, the very air felt...different. Dangerous. There was this tension, this menacing atmosphere, that permeated the entire area. 

Something was very,  _ very _ wrong.

She nearly leapt into the air when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, her ears perking up in full alert. She gently sighed, however, when the Garlean’s familiar scent reached her. Why did he have to have such a natural propensity to startle her? She almost missed the constant clanging of his hulking armor...

“Then you notice it as well.” Zenos’s voice barely rose above a whisper, the man bending down just far enough for his words to be audible.

The Miqo’te meticulously scanned the area. Nothing quite seemed out of place — indeed, it felt like a typical early afternoon, with the sun shining through light cloud cover, the sound of the waves crashing upon the shore, the birds…

_ Wait… Where are the seagulls? _

Her chest tightened, tail folding in between her legs as she studied the sky and land around her. After a few moments of frantic searching, she was just barely able to make out an unnaturally disturbed layer of soil, as if…

“There’s something buried here... No, wait,  _ several things _ .” She nodded her head toward the suspicious spots, the tiny lumps arranged in a pattern that could have only been created by something of sufficient sentience.

The Garlean’s eyes drifted over the designated area. There was something oddly familiar about it — he was absolutely certain he had seen such a formation before, though perhaps it just was a passing memory from a curious visit to the weapons development lab long ago... 

Nay, that was the static hum of electricity in the air. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t Eorzean in nature. Outside of Garlond Ironworks, such ceruleum instruments were rare in this territory, let alone in some meaningless, solitary cove.

Zenos kneeled down, searching the tall grass for a few seconds before snatching a stone and tossing it into the center of the arrangement. Immediately, it was suspended in the air by an electrical field, the buried devices popping out of the soil and whirring to life.

An arrow quickly followed suit, traveling within ilms of his ear before lodging itself into a palm tree far behind him.

The companions swiftly brandished their weapons, their backs to each other as they attempted to locate their assailants. Several agonizingly long seconds passed before they heard a rustle in the trees, followed by a number of black-clad figures emerging from the shadows. Leading the group was a tall, pale Elezen man with dark hair, equally dark, imposing chromite armor, and light green eyes that held not even a hint of emotion.

Myraeda felt as if she were staring at a pale imitation of the Garlean beside her — and yet, the intruder exuded a sickening energy even beyond that initial encounter at Rhalgr’s Reach. If she was certain of anything, this man and his small contingent were not to be taken lightly.

“What a waste of magitek… Though I should have expected as much from the crown prince of Garlemald,” the unfamiliar Elezen sighed, kicking one of the devices to the side before training his eyes on the pair. “Truthfully, I would have been surprised if such a paltry web had ensnared you.”

His underlings continued their approach, the men appearing to be of varying races and nationalities. Even a Bozjan Hrothgar was among them, such a rarity to see in this locale. The Miqo’te noted, however, that each of them seemed to be equipped with a rather large collar — and she was beginning to have a sickening suspicion as to its function.

“Has Father finally deigned to send someone to collect me?” Zenos gave a wry smile. “With the wealth of resources at the empire’s disposal, you certainly have taken your time. Or did the savages’ ruse work far better than intended?”

“It matters not how long it took to track you down. After all, you seem to have brought along a beautiful trophy.” The man’s eyes traveled up and down Myraeda’s form before resting on her face. “Hmm. I would have imagined her taller.”

Her ears flattened as she bared her elongated canines at the commander. “I am no  _ trophy _ for the likes of your ilk. Now piss off before I put a bullet between your eyes.”

“Do you have no intention of returning to your homeland? Oh, the accolades you would earn, having captured the distinguished Warrior of Light…” The Elezen smirked, ignoring the woman’s words entirely. “Perhaps your failures at stemming the tide of revolution in Ala Mhigo and Doma would be forgiven by that act alone.”

“You assume that I  _ care _ to be forgiven. Why return when Father would pluck my prey from my reach for whatever he so desires? Nay, I think that I will remain.” His grip grew stronger on the handle of his blade, his eyes narrowing sharply.

“Such a pity, though…” The Elezen’s gaze dropped to the woman’s neck, following along the length of her collarbone before settling on her chest. “I certainly cannot  _ entirely  _ blame you. Who would have ever guessed Zenos yae Galvus  _ fucked savages _ , let alone their champion?”

Her throat seized up, unable to respond to the accusation. How could she, when any retorts would be ignored in favor of the evidence scattered about her skin?

“Think what you will. If you so desire to drag me back to Garlemald, then I welcome you to try. I will not, however, suffer such cowardly tactics as  _ these _ .” The Garlean frowned at one of the gadgets on the ground before punting it at the commander’s head.

With a swift motion, the man dodged the projectile, which instead struck one of his subordinates straight in the gut. They immediately collapsed, their hands stemming the tide of blood from the object having embedded itself into their flesh.

“Useless,” the Elezen sighed, mercilessly bringing his massive gunblade down upon them. A pained scream and a bloody gurgle later, the man lay still, blood and offal soaking into the soil around him.

The Miqo’te took the opportunity to fire off a round at the commander, just barely grazing the man’s cheekbone. With a grin, she blew the trail of smoke away from her firearm. Oh, how taking down such a monster would be a delight.

“At least allow me the pleasure of introducing myself before the slaughter begins.” The man smirked, casually brushing away the blood trickling down his cheek with his thumb. “I am Vitus quo Messalla, commander of the Alaudae and soon to be your captor. Or, perhaps, your executioner, if you so will it.”

“I care not for your rank nor title. Prove yourself worthy of my attention before spouting such bombastic declarations,” Zenos sneered, dashing forward before the last syllables passed through his lips.

The rest of the Alaudae swarmed the pair, a ring of bodies ensnaring them within the reach of their commander’s gunblade. Myraeda ducked, rolling to the side as one of their weapons crashed into the ground where she had just been standing. She fired from below, striking her assailant in the throat just above his collar. As he stumbled, blood pouring from his jugular, she rushed outside the ring, sprinting to her normal vantage point. She would use her familiarity with the terrain to her utmost advantage.

Pure adrenaline pumped through her veins as she continued her assault from afar, the bloodlust rising in her chest. With a feral grin, she sniped another underling, reveling in their stumbling, their crash to the ground, their eyes rolling back in their head as they violently passed into the lifestream. They would  _ not  _ take the Garlean away from her, not as long as she still stood.

As the Miqo’te kept the rest of the contingent on their toes, Zenos clashed with the Elezen, sparks flying off their blades from every blocked strike. Two beasts joined in combat, eyes locked upon the other, fangs and claws bared, their primal urge to tear each other apart was almost palpable. Let the blood flow, let the seas run red and the plants drink of their sadistic dance, that dance to the song of brutality — it may not have been the beautiful waltz of his equal, but the satisfaction was yet there.

_ I will not yield, for she is mine and mine alone. _

The bodies fell, one after another, the crimson flowers blooming from their skulls, from the unmendable tears in their paling flesh. Only a couple of subordinates remained, and they knew —  _ they knew _ — to stay would bring them to a violent end. The eyes of the lauded warrior were filled with a terrifying fury, unlike the glorified stories that were whispered among the prisoners deep within the imperial capital. She appeared as if an angel, a cruel angel of light sent to purify them of their sins with the merciless judgment of death.

They ran.

Or, they would have, if Vitus had not momentarily ducked away to activate a device hidden within the confines of his armor.

The soldiers stiffened, an electric current running from the collars having set their nerves alight, their bodies no longer responding to the commands their minds screamed at them. With a loud thud, they were on the ground, lightning dancing across their forms, their eyes rolling back into their sockets.

Myraeda was unable to stop herself from unleashing a torrent of bullets upon the vulnerable men — their deaths were silent, with only the crackle of electricity echoing in the air. She dropped her feral smile as the realization began to hit her, the haze of bloodlust slowly fading. Her arm fell to her side, the musketoon slipping from her fingers.

The Elezen commander laughed, manic and unnerving, as he blocked Zenos’s blade from slicing into him once again. “It appears that the prince and his lioness will live to see another day. Though I have to say…” He ducked underneath a blow meant for his skull, grabbing a concealed canister before throwing it to the ground. Thick, white smoke filled the air, a dense fog that consumed the entire area.

“...Lord Zenos, you are far weaker than the tales let on.” Vitus’s voice just barely hung in the air as the sound of his footsteps trailed away, leaving the pair alone with almost a dozen bloodied bodies in their wake.

As the smoke drifted away on the ocean breeze, the Warrior of Light looked over the carnage she had wrought from upon high, the coerced soldiers swimming in a growing lake of blood and brain matter — and cried out in agony.

_ What...have I done? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years Eve! :D
> 
> As an FYI, I'll be taking the next week off to catch up on having multiple chapters ready in advance. I've been having job interviews recently, and want to make sure there is a steady stream of content for everyone in the case that I'm hired and need to adjust back to the world of employment.
> 
> Please look forward to 1/14, where I'll be back with weekly updates! <3
> 
> P.S. The English translated lyrics of lynch.'s MACHINE inspired some of the language in this chapter. I listen to mostly visual kei/Japanese rock when writing, and this particular song stuck out to me as very...Zenos. Lol.


	19. Disparity of Thought

_ Weak. _

The words spoken at the tiny dining room table barely registered in his mind — even though he knew that they were of the utmost import, that the Admiral and his friend were discussing their second abscondment in as many moons, the Elezen commander’s parting remark still echoed in his head.

_ “Lord Zenos, you are far weaker than the tales let on.” _

While he knew that taking the words of a fleeing coward at face value was irrational at best, they still continued to irk him bells after their battle. Truthfully, there had been few opportunities to test the boundaries of his power after the enchantment had been placed upon him in Ala Mhigo. In those instances, however, whether through sparring with his companion or when facing powerful voidsent, he had felt half the man he once was. Sluggish limbs, extended reaction times, feeling as if his blade were slicing through jelly rather than air… It had, for some time, been an interesting change of pace, another challenge to overcome in his monotonous existence.

Being bested by the Miqo’te woman was frustrating, but tolerable. The injury from the Cerberus? Easily enough attributed to exhaustion that he had yet to account for in his current state. These annoyances were manageable, even _ ignorable  _ in his recent day-to-day dealings. After all, he had found something else to occupy his attention — or rather,  _ someone  _ else.

Even so, the clash with another member of the Garlean military had been sobering, to say the least, especially one that he was entirely unfamiliar with. To be fair, few individuals had the pleasure of the Garlean prince remembering their name, but those who did held a level of power that would at least have promoted them to the position of legatus.

He would remember this savage’s name, and would enjoy a certain sadistic pleasure in his untimely death. A death that would be at  _ his _ hands, for the crime of cowardice, of trying to pluck the one pleasure left to him in this meaningless world from his fingers…

Vitus quo Messalla would die for his sins. Even if his words, for the moment, held some semblance of truth.

“...would that be agreeable to you, Zenos?” Myraeda asked the man, she and the Admiral both watching him intently.

Unsurprisingly, he had not managed to catch whatever plan they had previously decided upon. “Do as you wish. I was not aware that my opinion on the issue mattered,” he deflected, training his eyes on the bookshelves behind the Miqo’te.

She cocked her head to the side, her tail swishing to and fro as she leaned forward in her chair. She had vaguely hoped that he would at least have  _ some  _ opinion on where they would next be stationed. Unfortunately, there still appeared to be tie-ups that kept the Scions occupied in Ala Mhigo, according to the conveniently timed missive and package that had arrived for them earlier that day. Return to her adoptive family, for now, seemed impossibly out of reach.

It was with a heavy heart that she had elected Ishgard as the most appropriate place to stay, provided that Aymeric was amenable to the idea. She would not make the same mistake as she had with Admiral Bloefhiswyn, and especially not with such a dear friend and confidant.

But by the gods, was she nervous to request this favor. After all, it could put the entire city-state in danger if the situation was not handled with the utmost care.

Myraeda took a deep breath before turning back to the Roegadyn. “It’s decided, then. If you could possibly patch me through to Lord Aymeric, it would be most appreciated.”

Nodding, Merlwyb pressed a finger to her ear, activating her ever-present linkpearl. The seconds ticked by, an awkward silence settling over the group while the Miqo’te uncomfortably twiddled her thumbs. Finally, a muffled voice broke the stillness between them, the Admiral announcing herself before handing the device to the other woman.

The machinist took the offered linkpearl, thinking little of the hygienic implications as she placed it into her unoccupied ear.

“Lord Aymeric, it has been far too long,” she began, her fingers tangling in the fabric of her shorts.

“So it has, my friend. Though what, pray tell, has you bothered enough to contact me through the esteemed Admiral of Limsa Lominsa?” The concern in his voice was palpable.

She hesitated briefly before tearing off the proverbial bandage. “What do you know of the Garlean crown prince?”

“Zenos yae Galvus, yes? From my understanding of the reports released by the Eorzean Alliance, he perished by his own hand within the custody of the Ala Mhigan provincial government…” The Lord Speaker paused. “Myraeda, pray forgive me if I am mistaken, but I fear you are about to tell me otherwise.”

“...Aye, you have the right of it.” She let out a soft sigh. “Some...complications have arisen.”

“Complications…?” he slowly repeated. “While his continued existence fits that very definition, I know you well enough, my friend, to realize that the issue in question is far greater than my present understanding of the situation.”

“Observant as always.” She nervously chuckled, her eyes drifting to Zenos’s face briefly. He returned her gaze, and the Miqo’te bit back a squeak, much to the man’s amusement. “If you are not sitting down, I would suggest that you do so now.”

It was a few moments before the Elezen broke the silence on the line. “I am listening.”

Another deep breath. “It may come as a shock, but for lack of a better term, I have been chaperoning—“

The Garlean shot her a glare, which she quickly returned with her own.

“—the legatus for around two moons at my family home in Limsa Lominsa. The Admiral, upon learning about the situation, has been kindly sheltering us since she determined that he did not pose a threat to the city.”

“...Pray forgive me, but if these words had not come from your mouth, I would refuse to believe this possible.” If the Lord Speaker had been in the room with them, they would have seen him rubbing his temples in consternation.

“As it stands, however…” She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the texture of the wood underneath her fingers. “We had a recent encounter with a Garlean contingent known as the Alaudae. Unfortunately, their commander managed to escape, leaving us in a...rather precarious situation. To speak plainly, the Garlean Empire knows their crown prince yet lives, and we can no longer afford to stay in Limsa Lominsa due to that fact.”

“I will say, it does...pleasantly surprise me that he did not take the opportunity to abscond to Garlemald with you in tow.” His words were measured, each syllable carefully thought out. “If I am hearing your unspoken question correctly, you wish to be sheltered within the walls of Ishgard for the time being, though you loathe to make such a request of me.”

“...You are...not incorrect.” When had the air become so thick, as if she were breathing molasses instead? “If I could call upon anyone else, I would have done so long before even considering placing this responsibility upon your already heavily burdened shoulders. Though, I...think you would agree that keeping a close eye on him does have its advantages.”

“Indeed…” Aymeric mused, a soft breath barely audible through the linkshell connection. “Your words suggest that he no longer desires to return to his homeland. I hesitate to make the assumption, but if both you and the Admiral have found his demeanor agreeable enough to tolerate his presence in what I can only imagine are uncomfortably close confines, he would be of little direct threat to the populace. It is...certainly a shocking turn of events.”

Myraeda could not help but give the man another strained laugh. “Close confines is quite the understatement, Lord Aymeric.”

Merlwyb’s eyes traced the other woman’s collarbone for the umpteenth time, resisting the urge to clench her jaw.  _ Close confines _ ,  _ indeed _ .

“I do not doubt your words.” He paused briefly, mulling over his response in his mind. “As you are probably aware, both the House of Lords and Commons would string me up in front of the cathedral if they knew I was even considering such a request. However…”

The Miqo’te did not want to get her hopes up, but she knew that tone in her friend’s voice all too well.

“...The relative isolation of Ishgard is indeed ideal for a refuge, though the circumstances are far different from when you first took shelter within her walls. Beyond the advantages and risks, I cannot help but remind myself that your friendship is paramount to me, as is your continued safety. Myra…”

Her chest ached at the use of her nickname — it reminded her of memories of long ago, of the comfort of his arms as she grieved, the frozen landscape of Coerthas indifferent to her pain.

“...There is a crystal caravan bound to Ishgard from Limsa Lominsa upon the ‘morrow, a couple of bells after sunrise. Conveniently, I believe a colleague of yours has been tasked with guarding it along the way, and would gladly escort you to the location. Upon arrival to the city, I will personally collect the pair of you for further discussion on the matter. ...I need not remind you to take the utmost discretion in concealing your companion’s identity.”

She sighed in relief, the tension flowing out of her body in waves. “Lord Aymeric, I cannot express the depth of my thanks. I will not let you down.”

“I never doubted you, my friend. Pray rest well tonight after completing your preparations. I wish you safety on your journey, and anxiously await your arrival. If anything, I am grateful for the chance to see you again. It has been far too long.”

She could hear the smallest hint of anticipation in his voice, a feeling that she secretly shared. It had, indeed, been far too long since she had last beheld that soft smile of his.

_ But how long will that smile last once he knows? _

* * *

She was used to packing her entire life into whatever bags she could carry, but it still shot a pang of emptiness through her each and every time. When was the last time she had a place to call home? Perhaps the Lancer’s Guild could have been considered as such, but even then she felt a nuisance, a ward that dined in their halls and slept underneath their roof but never truly belonged. The guild master would have vehemently disagreed with her, of course, but that feeling still nagged at her from the dusty corners of her skull. Where  _ did _ she belong, truly?

There was an argument for the Rising Stones, but when she slept in her humble chambers, she couldn’t help but feel on edge. When would Tataru knock on her door with news of a soured situation, her duties returning as they always did? There, it was always the calm before the storm, the eye of a typhoon before the winds whipped up once more, violently pulling her back into the world of war and politics.

Oh, did she miss those days of stability long ago, of a bed to return to, when the hopes and prayers of Eorzea did not rest upon her weary shoulders.

_ Their hopes are misplaced. They would cast you aside if they knew of the fiend that lurked within your soul. You are not worthy. _

She pulled her legs in on the couch, gathering her blanket around her before resting her chin on her knees. Now that the commotion of the day had died down, the images of the clash in the cove flashed in front of her eyes. She was no stranger to death — the number of lives that had ended at the tip of her lance was unfathomable to her. But that had been in the name of justice, of ending oppression, of saving the godsdamned world. At least, that was how she justified it on those restless nights when the faces of the dead seemed to stare at her from the darkness.

She could find no justification in slaying coerced prisoners to hold onto the very man who had enforced the oppression of countless Ala Mhigans and Domans, who killed for sport and cared for very little outside of himself. Once again, she had saved a monster, this time with the blood of a dozen men on her hands.

“You have been staring at the fireplace for quite some time now,” the Garlean spoke up, setting down his book on the side table. Azure eyes probed the woman, noting her dour expression.

“What of it?” Myraeda mumbled into her blanket, tightening her arms around her bare legs.

“You are bothered by today’s events,” he stated, his expression unreadable.

“And why does that suddenly matter to you?” She shut her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Your actions were warranted, regardless of what you may believe. Their intent was to capture or kill. You acted out of self-preservation.” Why was she so concerned about their pitiful lives? Whatever reasoning she may have had was far beyond his understanding.

“They had no choice in the matter, Zenos. No agency, with only the fear of punishment driving them. And I…”  _ You enjoyed seeing their existence end in a shower of blood and gore. You reveled in it. You wanted more. _

“Death is death, no matter the reason. They should be honored that  _ you _ were the one to usher them into the void, and not some nameless executioner deep within the bowels of the imperial capital,” he countered.

“...What kind of hero enjoys bathing in the blood of her enemies? And all to...to…”  _ To have you to myself. _

“I fail to see the problem. Why not find pleasure in an act you have been forced to commit time and time again? Violence is an inherent component of man’s existence — and you indulge in it in the service of the savages you are beholden to. A hero must vanquish her enemies, yes? You are the righteous, and they are the misguided. Let them perish, and let your lust for blood guide you to victory.” He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking as he shifted his weight.

“And yet… You, considered one of the greatest enemies of all, are lounging in my living room and not wasting away in some forgotten dungeon back in Ala Mhigo,” she murmured, biting into her lip.

“I will not pretend to understand the logic behind your decision,” he quietly replied.

“What logic?” She gave a sardonic laugh. “Does it really matter? When all of Garlemald hears of how the esteemed Warrior of Light finds solace in their crown prince’s arms, when the rumors invariably spread to Eorzea, they’ll...” It suddenly dawned on her that she hadn’t covered her chest before the meeting with the Admiral. She had been too distracted by her tumultuous thoughts to remember. Finally, it made sense why the woman’s eyes kept drifting downward, her words curt and expression souring when she believed the Miqo’te wasn’t looking.

“Let the masses believe what they will about their precious champion. If they throw you aside after how often you have proved yourself useful, after you have spearheaded revolutions and taken down eikon after eikon, that is their own folly.” A wry smile played on the Garlean’s lips. “They will not find a more effective weapon than you.”

_ A weapon. I am just a weapon. A weapon that finds pleasure in the monster she was meant to slay. _

She opened her eyes and found the man still watching her intently. Her breath caught in her throat — the way he looked at her, once filled with what she assumed was only passing interest, had changed over the weeks. What did he think of her behind those beautiful azure eyes? She could finally see the smallest spark of life within them, a hint of emotion that she had never thought possible.

Beautiful. Why did she think them beautiful? Why had she wanted to keep him within her grasp so desperately?

“Pray excuse me,” she spoke up after a time, uncurling herself before rising from the couch and heading to the washroom.

The scalding water cascading down her back was an attempt to numb her to it all. These thoughts, these feelings of...what exactly?

She had concluded that her actions made her a monster. A monstrous weapon of the Scions to unleash upon the enemies of Eorzea. Whatever bloodlust she had acquired had only proven useful to that end. That much she was certain of.

Her dear friends and allies did not know the extent of that thirst within her. Seven hells, how long could she hide such a thing? Would it matter if they found out? Was she only a tool to them, when she only wanted family? Did they care to see her as...her? A lonely woman who only wanted comfort in being with them? Or was she only their beloved warrior?

She was a weapon of vengeance and liberation, and…

_ Only another weapon could understand a weapon. _

Perhaps he was correct, that they  _ were  _ one and the same, to a degree. Two opposing forces meant to clash in the name of their homelands, of similar purpose to those who would wish to claim them. And yet, even Zenos yae Galvus held a hint of humanity that perhaps no one in Garlemald had ever cared to notice.

But  _ she _ had. She had noticed his competitive streak, his voracious appetite for books, even that strange fascination with cooking, of all things.

There was beauty in that weapon, in what he was and what he could be. As there was in the glow of his skin, in those silky strands of golden hair, in the lines of his jaw and his lips and his prominent nose… His hands that had held her wrists. His tongue that had traveled across her skin. His eyes that had held such intense desire the night before.

Only a weapon could accept a weapon. And if the entire world already believed they had lain together… What was there to lose in a mindless indulgence?

Let her forget about everything, about those who had never accepted her as  _ her _ .

Only a monster could ever accept a monster.

She turned the knob, the stream of water slowing to a trickle before dying away, leaving only the occasional drop that echoed throughout the room. Her hands worked the towel through her hair and over her skin before wiping the condensation off the mirror. She studied herself in the mist, her eyes once again tracing over the remnants of the night before.

She opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. Shivering in the chill of the late autumn air, she left her nightclothes behind in a crumpled pile on the wooden floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohoho, next week should be quite interesting~
> 
> Please look forward to it! <3


	20. The Time Between The Seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is VERY NSFW. You have been warned. <3

He could finally hear the quiet creak of the stairs — she had been absent for far longer than he had anticipated. Spending almost a bell within the washroom was unheard of for her, in his limited experience. He had found himself having to read and reread the same sentence as he waited, his normally sharp mind not retaining any of the information. Had the conversation truly bothered her that much?

The machinations of her mind baffled him. Appearances, morality, interpersonal relationships with her comrades… Perhaps they had practical implications within conference rooms in some respects, though he couldn’t imagine her being particularly adept at politics. Her ever-present concerns and unpleasant memories had wound her up so tightly, and it did not suit her in the least. He preferred those moments after battle, watching her as the adrenaline still coursed through her veins, her bestial smile still playing at her lips.

When she was fierce, confident in combat, a force to be reckoned with behind her lance or musketoon… That was when she was the most beautiful.

_ Beautiful. _

His gaze wandered from his tome to the foot of the stairs out of curiosity, and he was rewarded with a view he had never thought possible. He had assumed that the night prior had been a fluke, a momentary lapse in judgment that was never meant to happen.

Yet there she was, her bare skin glowing in the firelight, the shadows dancing upon her breasts, the curvature of her waist, her hips, her...

_ This is a dream. Admittedly a pleasant dream, but only just. _

She approached.

The sway of her hips, of her tail was hypnotizing, her gait a trait of hers that he had never quite studied. He briefly wondered if she was exaggerating it — her movements resembled a lioness on the prowl, and for the first time in his memory  _ he  _ was the prey.

She stopped less than a fulm away from him and plucked the book from his fingers, setting it aside on the table before climbing into his lap.

The lounging chair creaked as she straddled his legs, her fingers lightly brushing over the sculpted musculature of his chest. Her hand rested on his cheek, thumbing the line of his jaw, her eyes reflecting so many conflicting emotions. Tenderness, shyness, hunger… It was clear to him that she wasn’t typically the type to take the initiative, regardless of her behavior on the battlefield.

She rose to her knees, resting her chin on his shoulder. She was shivering, her skin cool to the touch against his torso, her perked nipples pressing into his skin. Zenos slowly wrapped his arm around her waist, and she stiffened briefly — was she really that nervous after the confidence she had exuded when entering the room? He could feel her heartbeat racing against his chest, her breath shallow against his neck.

Myraeda’s lips moved to the crook of his shoulder, and she paused, a momentary hesitation before she made her final decision. Her mouth opened, tongue slowly running over his skin, and she violently sank her teeth into his flesh.

His breath hitched, and he let out a small gasp — her prominent canines had embedded themselves into him, the sharp pain giving him a jarring moment of clarity. Dreams, as a rule, did not come with such sensations. This was real, _she_ _was_ _real_ , and so was the blood trickling over his collarbone.

When had reality become so kind to him?

She suckled at him, the taste of iron filling her mouth, the crimson liquid dripping down her chin as she swallowed. She vaguely remembered that long ago he had asked for this, before the mess she had wrought, though whether in jest or not she couldn’t say. But the taste —  _ the taste  _ — was divine. Perhaps the predatory nature of her distant ancestors had awoken in her, but she couldn’t imagine finding any pleasure in performing such a barbaric act upon anyone else. After all, it paled in comparison to hearing the irregularities in his breath, the occasional soft groan emanating from deep within his throat.

She rose, the punctures left behind still creating small rivulets that flowed along the lines of his chest. The chronometer slowly ticked the seconds away, her feline eyes taking in the remnants of pleasure in his expression. She breathed in, closing the distance to press her mouth against his.

Zenos parted his lips, his tongue greeted by hers. The taste of his own blood still lingered, and he wanted  _ more _ , craving the delicate mix of the wetness of her mouth and the metallic flavor of him. He slid his tongue along her fangs, pushing it against them until he forcibly pricked himself. With a small noise of contentment, he began their dance in earnest.

It surprised her how absolutely ravenous he was, his hand tangling in her short locks as he pressed her head against his. He was a starved beast, truly — any attempt to pull away for breath was interrupted by his tongue probing into her mouth, a refusal for their connection to end. There was a sort of desperation in the act, a need that could not be quenched. How long had he desired this? How long had he held himself back, such an uncharacteristic show of restraint for the fiend that he was?

He broke away suddenly, his hand shifting from the back of her skull to her jaw, gently cupping it. Turning her head this way and that, he studied her, his thumb brushing over her facial markings, tracing them as if he were committing each line to memory. She indeed was beautiful in a bestial sort of way, without the elegance and grace that the courtesans of the imperial capital displayed. She was raw, savage, and yet there was that timidness, that vulnerable side of her that persisted even now. He would instill confidence in her, cultivate it, but for now…

“I accept your invitation.” He spoke in a husky voice, a small smirk playing at his lips before he uttered his first command. “Turn around.”

Myraeda’s eyes widened, but she obeyed, flipping herself around until her back leaned against his chest. He pulled her closer until their bodies were flush against one another, his hand resting across her stomach. She had never quite realized just how  _ large  _ they were — his fingers splayed across the entire length of her abdomen, their warmth a welcome reprieve from the chill of the room. Her tail bounced lightly against the side of his thigh, the limb shifting ever so slightly beneath her.

He balanced his chin atop her head, his breath making her ears twitch against his cheek. Zenos hummed in thought, his fingers tapping her stomach all the while. “Now, close your eyes and  _ relax. _ ”

“How am I supposed to—“ She was cut off by his other hand enveloping her breast, his thumb circling around her tender nipple. She let out a small gasp, shutting her eyes as she pressed her head against him. Her loins  _ ached _ , each pass of the digit stoking the flames below. She had forgotten just how sensitive her breasts were, the absence of any recent physical affection only strengthening the sensation radiating throughout her.

“So easy to please…” he teased, giving her a gentle squeeze before ceasing his movements. Her soft whine amused him, and he granted her one more brush of his thumb. “Do you wish for more, my lioness?”

“Mmm…” she murmured, her fingers playing with the soft fabric of his pants.

“Then tell me what you desire. _ Beg for it,” _ he breathed into her ear. Oh, how he would enjoy toying with his prey.

Her breath caught in her throat, cheeks flushing scarlet. How could she put such an embarrassing thing into words, let alone…

“Unless you have changed your mind. Such a pity…” His hands moved to rest on the arms of the chair, the Miqo’te quietly whimpering in response.

After a few agonizing moments, she hesitantly grabbed his hand, guiding it lower until she placed it just above her mound. She spread her legs a few ilms apart, her body shivering with anticipation.

“Oh? Would you prefer that I rested my hand here?” He grinned, refusing to budge.

“...touch me,” she mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his lap.

“What was that? Speak louder.” His grin only grew wider.

“Godsdammit, you bastard. You know  _ exactly  _ what I mean,” she huffed back.

“Do I? Please elaborate.”

“...Zenos, please don’t make me…” she pleaded, her whimpering growing in intensity.

“I am  _ waiting _ ,” he hummed.

“ _ Just rub me off already, you insufferable arse!” _ she whined, forcibly shoving his fingers between her folds.

“Hmm… Adequate. Very well.” His other hand wrapped around her stomach once more, holding her in place. Spreading her lips apart, he dipped his middle finger lower, exploring for a few moments before finally eliciting a small gasp from the woman. “Ahh, there it is.”

With each experimental motion, he listened intently to her reactions, to what made her breath hitch, her muscles stiffen, her ears twitch. A soft groan, the occasional small tug at his pants — it was fascinating just how  _ quiet _ she had become. And yet, every other sign pointed to how much she enjoyed it, his fingers becoming slicker with each movement.

“...In,” Myraeda said softly, her words almost inaudible. She pushed his hand lower, pressing the tip of his finger just barely into her entrance. Her mind was already hazy with pleasure, and perhaps this extra step would…

He slid the digit inside, the first knuckle quickly followed by the second. Her muscles squeezed down upon him immediately, as if he were a foreign object she was subconsciously trying to eject.  _ Much too tense. Now how to… _

She blinked a few times — he had unexpectedly paused his ministrations, leaving only the warmth of his skin to satisfy her. She was becoming impatient, her frustration growing as her body cried out for more, lightly rubbing herself against his palm. That is, until she finally had a realization.

_ Has he never…? _

“Do you...need guidance?” she spoke up, laying a hand on his arm. It surprised her that he had managed to get this far with relatively little issue. What had given him pause?

He stiffened from her touch, but did not respond.

She took a deep breath, biting back her nerves. Never had she explained something so intimate, and certainly not in explicit detail.

“...Just barely past the ridges. Curl your finger in at the top, then push. The texture there...is somewhat spongy…” Her voice gradually grew quieter as she spoke, her cheeks burning. Why did she have to feel embarrassed  _ now _ , of all the times?

Zenos complied without a word, slowly slipping his finger out as he searched for the designated area. It was much shallower than he had expected — truly, she was so small within and without, almost concerningly so. A tentative push, followed by a pleased groan, and his smirk returned. Once the motions had been studied, committed to memory, it would be almost mechanically easy to pleasure her, and yet...there was this nuance to it. This need to push the boundaries farther, to crack that silence and make her beg for him,  _ submit to him _ …

But that was for another day, a gradual escalation and exploration that he eagerly awaited. For now, she was already beginning to writhe in his lap, the friction from her movements combined with his musings causing his length to throb underneath the loose fabric holding him back.

Her hips rocked in time with his finger, her nub brushing against the side of his palm all the while. She vaguely noticed the growing feeling of pressure underneath her, but was quickly distracted by the insertion of another digit. Whatever hint of pain from the sudden stretching was lost within moments, the dual sensations upon her clit and inside her threatening to push her over the edge.

“ _ Let go _ ,” he purred, his pace quickening with his words.

And for the first time that night she moaned, a soft, prolonged sound of blissful release. The world around her had dimmed until there was nothing left but ecstasy and  _ him _ , each orgasmic wave bringing her farther and farther away from their dark reality.

She stilled, and Zenos slid his fingers from her, raising them to his lips for a curious taste. Perhaps it was his imagination, but she was sweeter than he had expected, though truthfully he had no frame of reference. To him, it was the taste of triumph, and a hint of what was to come.

“On your hands and knees, arse in the air,” he commanded, giving her a slight shove.

Myraeda obeyed, pushing herself off his lap and onto the rug. Even with the crackling fire, she almost immediately began to shiver, goosebumps prickling upon her skin. The chill began to clear her mind, and her anxiety returned. Regardless of everything, she felt so  _ exposed _ , as if an object to be meticulously inspected.

He rose from his seat and planted himself next to her. He studied her intently, his gaze gradually drifting from her head to her tail. The dim light reflected off the sheen of sweat upon her skin, her purple locks still damp from her shower less than a bell ago. Extending his arm, he rested his fingers on the nape of her neck, the woman flinching underneath from the sudden touch. He leisurely slid them down the curvature of her spine, pausing here and there to trace the collection of scars that marred her skin — the darkest the tale of the clash between eikonic dragon and warrior, predator and prey, a hunt for the ages. The Garlean prince smiled, a fiendish expression of hunger and desire. They were  _ his _ marks,  _ his  _ permanent imprint on her. As were the ones upon his own skin, the proof of their shared, violent encounter.

They would share more than scars on this fateful night.

He reached the base of her tail, his fingernails running over the junction between skin and fur, from their similarities to their differences. The Miqo’te let out a tiny groan, her rear rising higher in the air, tail swaying this way and that.

“Sensitive there, are we?” He chuckled softly, a deep, throaty sound of amusement. “How fascinating.”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” She let out a frustrated sigh, her body growing colder by the second.

“So impatient,” he chastised, rising to his feet. A few steps, and he was behind her, his shadow drifting over the woman, enveloping her.

She could hear the sound of fabric hitting the floor and being kicked to the side, followed by the thump of Zenos sitting on the floor. His fingers once again slid into her folds, her breath hitching from the unexpected stretch of three at once. As quickly as they had entered her, they were gone, the slick sound of wet fingers against skin quickly replacing it. He repeated the process twice more before leaning over her, propping himself up with one arm and lifting her lower half up with the other. He aligned himself, the head of his cock teasing at her entrance.

“I suppose I will just have to indulge myself... _ in you _ .” With the last syllables he thrusted forward, halfway sheathing himself inside her.

Myraeda flinched, almost losing her balance in the process, just barely holding on by wrapping her tail around the man’s waist. She bit into her lip to distract herself from the pain — her body only just barely accommodated him, though she would be hard pressed to explain how. From his relative size, she had expected him to be well endowed, but this…

He began with shallow thrusts, the sheer tightness of her walls allowing for little else. And yet, the sensation was sublime, beyond anything he could have imagined. His few prior experiences had been abhorrently boring, to the point where he had written off the activity entirely, but with her…  _ Let this moment never end. _

His pace quickened, pushing into her as far as her body would permit. He had begun to pant with the effort, his nails gripping into her side, preventing her from slipping from the layer of sweat forming between them.

“You’re...going to tear me apart,” she spoke between shallow breaths. The pain intermingled with the feeling of being so very full, so very  _ whole _ .

“Then let me tear you apart...and rebuild you in my own image,” he growled, thrusting deeper into her. “You are  _ mine _ , my lioness… Never forget that.”

_ His _ . She groaned in response, whatever words she may have offered fading into pure sensation, pain and pleasure mixing in their carnal waltz. Their battlefield had shifted to this, weapons exchanged for their very bodies. All disappeared in the face of this shared moment, this shared connection that would only ever belong to them, the rest of the world be damned.

Seconds turned into minutes, the Garlean’s panting turning into primal growls, his sweat-soaked hair drifting over the woman’s shoulders. With one final thrust, the world around him faded into a blur of ecstasy, his groan echoing throughout the living room. 

She could feel the rush of his release, and the realization sent her over the edge once more, their ragged breaths entangling in a song of fulfillment. Zenos’s grip finally failed, and she unceremoniously fell to the floor.

Within moments, they were both on their backs, side by side, chests rising and falling in sync.

“Such bliss…” he breathed, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the ceiling.

“Mmm…” Her mind was too cloudy to fully form any words, offering only a small sound of assent.

“How transcendent a moment… How divine…” he murmured, his hand drifting to entangle in her hair, lightly scratching behind her ears. It was such an unfamiliar surge of  _ feeling _ , a beam of light within the darkness, the dreariness, of his existence.  _ Beautiful _ . The word returned unbidden to his mind, repeating itself again and again.

She purred in response, turning over to rest her head upon his chest, curling into the warmth of his skin. For the first time in forever, she could relax, the tension fading away until there was nothing left but the sound of his heartbeat.

“You truly are a kitten, aren’t you…” His voice tapered off, replaced by a small, genuine smile.  _ Let it never end. _

Reality faded away into pleasant dreams, their worries forgotten, if only for the moment.

* * *

“Pray gather some flowers from behind the house. The violas should be blooming by this point in the season...” Myraeda shoved at the man’s back until he begrudgingly went outside, the Garlean shooting her a glare before he closed the door. She leaned against it, shutting her eyes and sighing in relief. There were preparations to finish, a weapon she needed to hide…

It would also be her final moments within the confines of her family home. One she felt she had desecrated, as if a heretic in the halls of Halone. She needed to make amends before her departure, that much was certain.

But beyond that, she needed closure. The nightmares may have disappeared, but the memories yet remained, as they always would. The ghosts of her family would follow her until she joined them in the lifestream, but until then… There were no graves to honor, so she would just have to make a memorial of her own.

Strange as it was, it somehow seemed right to involve Zenos in its creation. After all, he was the sole individual that had listened to her story until its gruesome conclusion. Even if he wasn’t able to understand the depth of her grief — truthfully, he was likely incapable of doing so — he had allowed her to share the burden with him, if only just barely. Seven hells, he had even  _ comforted _ her, though in his own, unique way.

Another shared moment to add to the growing collection, perhaps the first one where he had truly gotten a glimpse of her as an individual.

_ Shared moments.  _ It wasn’t yet the time to unpack the significance of the night before. There was just so much to do, so many loose ends to tie up before they left… There would be plenty of opportunities for reflection on the long road to Ishgard. Though she could do without the intense ache radiating throughout her hips as she traversed about the house.

Her first order of business was slipping the weapon case out from underneath the couch. A small layer of dust had accumulated on top of the polished wood — she had to stifle a sneeze before she hurriedly brushed it off. The persistent itching of her hands as she buried it into her pack was well worth the discomfort, however. There had been no sign of fingerprints upon the case, nor of any movement from its original hiding place. The secret was still safe with her, for now.

The door cracked open just as the Miqo’te removed the centerpiece of the memorial from the selfsame pack. She felt a pang of guilt for ignoring Mog for so long, her constant companion for seven long summers. The combination of the embarrassment of cuddling a stuffed animal around the Garlean, along with the constant reminder of his original owner, had made her hide him far from sight. She gave the threadbare toy a pained smile before placing him on the spotless dining room table, giving him a small pat on the top of his head.

_ It’s finally time that I return him to you. Liora, pray remember that you are not alone. I love you, little sister. Always and forever. _

“As requested,” Zenos said flatly, tossing a clump of violas on the table. Soil scattered across the cobblestone floor, small rocks bouncing here and there along with it.

Myraeda frowned, though she couldn’t help but be mildly amused at his “contribution”. The roots were still threaded throughout the remaining dirt, and she swore she could see a horribly confused worm wriggling through it. With a sigh, she gathered the “bouquet”, disappearing into the kitchen for a few moments before returning with the stems properly cut, a damp cloth in her other hand. She set the violas aside, then proceeded to clean the mess that the Garlean had managed to make.

Finally, with the table in a somewhat suitable state, she placed the flowers in a vase beside the stuffed moogle, smiling at her work. The memorial was coming along quite smoothly, but she felt that there was something missing, that it needed a final touch before she could comfortably leave this monument to her past behind. She tapped her fist to her chin in thought, her eyes drifting about the room in search of ideas.

“Are you quite finished?” Zenos asked, his growing irritation evident in his tone. “At the rate you are so  _ diligently working _ , there will be no caravan for us to stow away in.”

“Shut up and let me think,” she shot back, her gaze resting on a collection of cluttered parchment scattered about one of the bookshelves. Her ears perked up in realization, moving to gather them as well as a discarded quill and ink bottle before returning to the table. She pulled out one of the chairs and sat herself down, taking a moment to work the bottle open, then dipped her quill into the pitch black ink. Thankfully, it hadn’t managed to dry up in Twelve knows how long since the container had last been opened.

While she wasn’t particularly adept at calligraphy, she focused intently on every letter, crumpling the parchment and throwing it aside if she deemed the style of the text any less than perfect. A few minutes passed, the silence occasionally interrupted by the Garlean impatiently clearing his throat, before Myraeda nodded to herself. She very gently propped up the epitaph beside Mog, taking care not to smear the ink.

_ “In memory of a mother, father, sister, brother — of a family of smiles, laughter, and love. Of beautiful mornings upon the beach, of the smell of mutton on the stove, of the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps on the stairs. _

_ May your souls forever walk in the light of the crystal, and your memory live on for eternity.” _

Her throat tightened as she read over the words once more, her ears flattening and her nails digging into her palms. But she managed to hold back the tears — she would focus on their lives, and not just their tragic deaths. They were more than that single day, a drop in the bucket compared to eighteen joyful summers. She would tell herself that again and again if she had to, a repeated mantra for a lifetime.

The Miqo’te turned around finally, giving the man a mild look of annoyance. “Shall we be off then, you giant bastard?”

“Are we the champion of childish insults, now? How  _ endearing.” _ Zenos’s lips curled into a sly smile before throwing their belongings over his shoulder.

In seconds, they were out the door, cowls thrown over their heads. The chill of the early morning air made her shiver as she turned the key for the last time, the lock clicking into place. Myraeda gathered her cloak around her small form, holding it together as the winds whipped up from the seaside. 

She was  _ not _ looking forward to arriving in Ishgard just as winter was settling into the surrounding mountains.

She could see Rostnsthal’s bulky form off in the distance, the man motioning for them to hurry onward. With a soft smile, she began the trek down the dirt road. A long journey with the rough and tumble pirate would be quite an interesting one, indeed — though the thought of being in such  _ close quarters  _ with the Garlean made her cheeks tinge with pink. At least she could easily shrug that off as a result of the temperature. Miqo’te weren’t built for the cold, right?

With one final glance behind her, she left the house behind, jogging to catch up to her constant companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, for better or worse, they've certainly crossed a barrier, haven't they?
> 
> I'm actually a bit behind on my writing, though, so I'll need to take another two week gap. Please join me on 2/4 for the beginning of the Ishgard arc, and Zenos meeting Aymeric for the first time. (It's probably going to go...about as well as you'd expect it to.)
> 
> See y'all soon!


	21. Silver, Blue & Gold

“Seven hells, I might as well be stale bread with how stiff I am…” Myraeda stretched her arms, bending over backward until she could feel a satisfying pop in her spine.

“You lost your right to complain when you began using my thighs as a pillow,” the Garlean replied, giving her a small smirk. He shoved her pack at her, the woman barely managing to grab the straps before it hit the snow-covered cobblestone.

Her face suddenly felt warm against the unbearable chill around her. He certainly wasn’t  _ wrong _ — the inside of the wagon had been rather cramped, and the constant rocking from a loose wheel made her stomach lurch with every bump in the road. She had spent the majority of the last two weeks attempting to sleep the journey away, and with little else to rest her head upon…

At least he had retained enough self-control to keep his hands generally to himself, save for the few times she had awoken to his fingers entangled in her hair. She hadn’t been sure whether to shove him out of the wagon or press her head into his touch. It felt nice, but…

_ The godsdamned refrain of my life. What nonsense has come over me? When did he become such a calming presence? This isn’t… _

“Myraeda, ye alright lass?” Rostnsthal’s hand rested on her shoulder, bringing her back to reality.

She blinked a few times, noticing the Garlean’s eyes briefly narrowing at the pirate. “Aye, I’m fine. Where has Lord Aymeric requested us to—“

“The Skysteel Manufactory. The Lord said the Congregation ain’t… It ‘as too many rats scuttling ‘round.” The Roegadyn somehow managed to keep his booming voice down, a veritable miracle. “Been a long time…”

“Indeed.” She chuckled to herself, finally taking a chance to observe the nostalgic surroundings about her.

Ornate towers rose into the firmament, the muted grey of the buildings and stone not all that much different than the mountains across the abyss. But the architecture did not  _ need  _ a vast pallet of colors — nay, the beauty came from gods knew how many summers of stoneworkers meticulously carving each and every detail. The magnum opus of that labor was the cathedral that loomed far above in the Pillars, its original purpose thrown away along with the bloody end of the Dragonsong War.

The end of the Dragonsong War...

_ Remember, Myraeda, the story of his life is worth far more than that tragic day at The Vaults. Keep going with a smile. Aymeric awaits you. _

Her boots crunched in the fresh fallen snow, leaving behind shallower footprints than both the Roegadyn and the Garlean. Even more so than Limsa Lominsa, the populace of Ishgard made her feel so very tiny, almost everyone towering over a fulm above her. She half wondered if she should learn how to walk on stilts as they stopped outside of the Manufactory’s doors, the smell of chocobo dung wafting in from the nearby stables mixed with ceruleum making her nose twitch.

“Who knew that the most potent scents of Eorzea and Garlemald could mix together in this…rather pungent concoction,” Zenos dryly commented, pulling his hood farther down his head before following Rostnsthal into the building.

The dim lighting mixed with whatever sunlight the cloudy skies of Ishgard could provide, the constant banging of machinery echoing throughout the room. A few diligent workers sat at benches or stoked fires, the production of firearms and other high-tech equipment proceeding apace. The work never seemed to stop flowing, with the Hounds needing new weapons for their members and Garlond Ironworks tapping them to aid in manufacturing airships. It was a busy place, certainly, but the dedication was apparent in each and every clang of their hammers.

And that dedication was personified in the highborn Stephanivien de Haillenarte, who was approaching the group with a wide smile.

“What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Palimpos!” The Elezen rested his hands on his hips, regarding his former Roegadyn colleague and the expected guests. “I assume your journey had no complications?”

“Other than the rough floorboards and the biting cold of Ishgardian winter approaching.” The Miqo’te couldn’t help but laugh. There was something about the man that always seemed to amuse her — was it his constant talk about his fabled prospectometer? The excitement in his eyes when explaining his newest invention? He was a character, to be sure, but his earnestness could not be doubted, nor could his ability to serve as a proper confidant in sensitive affairs.

“I am reminded of your displeasure when it comes to the climate of Coerthas. I certainly cannot blame you when comparing it to the muggy air of Limsa Lominsa, though the chill certainly does have a charm unto itself.” Stephanivien adjusted his goggles, expression turning serious. “Our esteemed Lord Speaker awaits you in the side room. Pray divulge the details of your decision afterward, as I do have a proposition to offer you.”

“A proposition…?” Myraeda cocked her head. What sort of plans had he been concocting since he learned of their coming?

The door opened to a small, rectangular table set up in a room that smelled of old books with the slightest hint of smoke. Bookshelves lined almost every wall, describing engineering, magitek, the production of firearms and the smelting of steel… 

Aymeric rose from his seat, adorned in the blues and silvers of his former office as Lord Commander, the gas lanterns in the room reflecting their light off of his pauldrons. His icy blue eyes set upon the Miqo’te first, giving her a small, warm smile before focusing his attention on the other guests.

“Rostnsthal, I greatly appreciate your contribution to this risky endeavor. If you could ensure the privacy of our conversation, it would be most welcome. Though I would assume that the machinery will give us ample cover.” The Elezen dismissed the man, and within moments he was left alone with his dearest friend and the crown prince of Garlemald. A strange duo, indeed, if there ever was one.

The machinist threw her hood off, her fingers combing through her hair. With a gentle sigh, she removed her cloak and hung it up on a conveniently located rack. “Lord Aymeric, I apologize that our reunion had to be on such…”

“Such precarious terms? It cannot be helped, though I am full glad to see that you are well. I can only assume that the journey was far from pleasant for you, considering your intense uncomfortability with that mode of transportation.” He gestured for them to sit, pouring the pair cups of black tea. The steam rose from the liquid, drifting into the air in tendrils until it dissipated.

Zenos followed the woman’s motions, untying his hair and letting the strands fall across his chest and back. There was no longer a need to conceal his identity, at least for the moment, and it felt mildly pleasant to have his full field of vision back. He pulled out a chair and took a seat as instructed, languidly crossing his legs and ignoring the offered beverage. The Elezen before him had the air of an adept politician, to be sure, but there was a certain level of warm familiarity that felt out of place at a meeting such as this. His warrior and the other man were clearly well-acquainted, beyond what one would have expected between a head of state and the lauded hero of Eorzea.

It irked him, and he couldn’t seem to point to any concrete reason as to  _ why _ .

“Zenos yae Galvus, I presume? I do believe in these unique circumstances that introductions are hardly necessary, though for the sake of propriety I cannot help but do so. I am Aymeric de Borel, the acting Speaker of the House of Lords and former Lord Commander of the Temple Knights,” he began, never once breaking eye contact with the Garlean. “Pray forgive me for my indiscretion, but speaking to you under such conditions comes as quite a shock.”

“I was not aware that propriety held such importance in the face of an adversary,” he replied, his expression indifferent. “You are formal to a fault, and I would have assumed solely a man of words as well if your  _ dear friend _ hadn’t divulged the details of your contribution to ending your nation’s war.”

Myraeda shot him a glare, shoving at his leg from underneath the table. “I wanted to thank you for providing us succor, even at the detriment to Ishgard’s security. It’s beyond benevolent, truly — I cannot help but feel supremely guilty in forcing this situation upon you.”

The Elezen laughed, a soft, contained sound. “Myra, you are being far too formal with me. Speak freely, as you normally would. I assure you that I won’t be offended, not after all this time.”

_ He uses a nickname for her. How fascinating. _

“Then… Aymeric, would it be best for me to explain how this...predicament...came to be?” She hesitated, fiddling with her rose accented bracelet while her hands rested in her lap.

He nodded, his fingers interlacing on top of the table, avoiding the small indentations scattered about it. “I believe that would be most helpful in determining the proper course of action. Take as long as you need.”

She started from the beginning, recounting the compulsion during her ill-fated battle with Shinryu, the pair’s recovery following their dance with death, and the return of said compulsion upon Zenos’s violent awakening. She spoke of the mob in Ala Mhigo, their original abscondment under the orders of the Scions and the provincial government, and of the enchantment that both bound the Garlean’s strength and precluded the possibility of their separation. She spared few details, save for the increasingly complicated relationship that had developed between the two over the course of time. That was for another day, another week, another moon… She couldn’t hide it forever, that was for certain, but she feared whatever effect it would have on their friendship.

Aymeric was one of the very few who saw her as a person, and she did  _ not _ want him torn away from her. Not after everything he’d done in the wake of her beloved’s death, the comfort he had provided when each night brought only tears and the bitter cold. His warm arms and constant reassurances, his tight embrace as she sobbed into his chest…

“Are you quite finished, or will I be subjected to your incessant rambling for another bell?” Zenos sighed, shifting his legs in his chair. The explanations were becoming tiresome. He would have preferred to have her to himself, in the comfort of bed sheets instead of the stiff wooden boards of that damned wagon, finally having the chance to…

She stomped on his foot, bringing clarity back to his mind. Oh, it amused him so how his words sparked such colorful reactions in his lioness.

The Elezen raised an eyebrow at the pair. Their dynamic was entirely unexpected — friendly did not seem the correct term for it, but he knew the Miqo’te well enough to see that she had become rather unguarded around the man. Perhaps it was just the result of moons of toleration, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that it went beyond that. Regardless, it was a topic to broach later. There were too many tasks, too many responsibilities, to ruminate on the nature of his friend’s relationship with her purported mortal enemy. Ishgard came first and foremost, as it always would.

Other than her safety, of course.

“Your tale is quite fascinating, Myra. An inability to slay our esteemed guest? I do wonder what the Mother Crystal’s intent may be, though truthfully that is of little consequence at the moment.” His gaze rested once again upon the Garlean. It was passing strange that he had not used the opportunity to rid himself of the Warrior, whether by ambush or in her sleep. The reasoning mattered little for now — despite all that would give him pause, Zenos  _ did  _ seem to pose little risk on his own. Whatever hounds were after him, however…

“As you well know, your presence in Ishgard is a matter of utmost secrecy. Unfortunately, our Warrior of Light’s visage is well-known after the conclusion of the Dragonsong War. She has done much and more for this state, far more than I could ever repay. To that end, I do hope that providing this refuge will begin to redress that balance.” He paused, taking a moment to consider their options.

“We will not be able to avoid the idle conversation that will inevitably come from her extended stay within these walls. Her identity will be nigh impossible to conceal. However, few of the general populace would be familiar with anything further than your name, which we can use to our advantage. Prior to your arrival, what steps did you take to avoid recognition?”

“Clearly far from enough. Our very presence here would be indicative of that fact, would it not?” the Garlean replied, his eyes boring into the other man across from him. The Elezen was too long-winded, cared _far_ _too much_ for decorum, and was very rapidly beginning to bore him.

“He went by a false name, covered his third eye, and tied up his hair. Not so much different than when you first laid eyes on him, to be honest,” Myraeda piped up, ignoring the temptation to shove at the man’s leg for a third time. Why did he have to be so absolutely insufferable? Could he not behave for once in his godsdamned life?

_ I shouldn’t have expected anything better than this, really… Bastard. _

Aymeric’s gaze fell to his hands, studying them as he continued to think. “A general change in your appearance would be prudent. Perhaps if you dyed your hair a different hue—“

If Zenos’s glare had been given physical form, it would have become a dagger shoved straight between the Elezen’s ribs and into his heart.

“Maybe we should consider another option, Aymeric.” The Miqo’te offered a strained smile. It had taken her almost a moon to even convince the man to let her trim his split ends.

“...Pray forgive me if this suggestion is inadequate, but often the smallest alteration in one’s countenance can fool even the most attentive of us. A pair of false spectacles may prove sufficient for our purposes. This, in conjunction with avoiding any altercations within the city, should serve to conceal your presence quite well, I would think.” His words were measured, thoughtful, bordering on optimistic.

“Surely this is little more than a jest, and a poor one at that. How could spectacles possibly—“

“Zenos, I thought  _ you _ of all people would know how easy it is to fool others in matters of identity,” Myraeda quickly cut him off. She turned in her chair and looked up at him, craning her neck at the effort. “The idea might sound ludicrous in theory, but I think it’s well worth a shot.”

_ By the Twelve, he would likely look stunning in them, too. _

Her face flushed, fists clenching as she pushed away any untoward thoughts that had taken the chance to surface.

The Garlean couldn’t help but flash her a suggestive smirk. If the idea had forced such a reaction out of her now, of all times, perhaps it was worth entertaining after all.

“...Very well. I will play a part in this mummery at your insistence.” He finally deigned to take a sip of the tea. The flavor was far from remarkable, but fell well within his meager expectations. He had never particularly cared for the beverage anyway, save for some Doman variations.

The tension in the room began to die down, much to the relief of the Miqo’te. It was becoming quite clear to her that the two men didn’t care for one another, though the source of the strife was primarily from a certain crown prince. It wasn’t surprising, really. They were as far from alike as people could possibly be, and it certainly showed. Aymeric, however, had managed to stay stoic throughout the encounter — she would have to press him on his true feelings later, she decided.

Myraeda couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that their stay in Ishgard would not be without incident. Especially if Zenos managed to uncover her...complicated past with the Elezen leader.

_ Seven hells, he would be perceptive enough to suspect something, wouldn’t he? And he’s absolutely incapable of understanding emotional nuance… How the fuck did I manage to find anything remotely attractive about him? Stupid, insufferable, beautiful bastard! _

She swallowed back the rising bile in her throat. Yet again, it was a topic for another day.

“Now, onto the matter of your accommodations…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that meeting went about as well as expected, didn't it?
> 
> I have good news and bad news. Good news! I start a new job on Monday, hooray!
> 
> Bad news. I'll have to be posting every two weeks for the foreseeable future. I won't have as much free time or mental energy to write, and I'll need to get back into the swing of things. I do promise that I'll be keeping on that schedule, though! (I also have a secret AU project I'm working on on the side as a pallet cleanser, but I'll need a lot more of that written before I even consider posting it publicly.)
> 
> See y'all in two weeks!


	22. The First Night, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: NSFW (mostly nudity).

Myraeda glanced across the street, a wistful feeling washing over her. A part of her still wished to stay with Count Fortemps once again, perhaps out of nostalgia, comfortability, and the familiarity… He was no stranger to the precarious situations she had put him in as his ward a summer ago, when the Scions landed on his doorstep as fugitives. Nay, that was not what kept her from calling upon his aid.

Bringing another man into his abode felt  _ wrong _ — especially one that she had lain with, and fully intended to do so with again. And again, and again…

_ Why do I crave his touch? What is wrong with me? _

Stephanivien’s proposition had been the perfect excuse to avoid the issue entirely. House Haillenarte was still deeply in debt to her after Francel’s unfortunate encounter with the false inquisitor, he explained, and while his father had been hesitant to house them, he had relented in the end. Their quarters had been suitably prepared a week prior to their arrival, the Lord Commander having examined them from top to bottom.

It became incredibly clear to her when she opened the door to her chambers that Aymeric would spare no expense in keeping them comfortable during their stay. The ornate curtains were crimson, blocking out much of the remaining sunlight that still lingered this late into the evening. A candelabra had already been lit, the shadows dancing upon the muted wallpaper. Her feline eyes quickly adjusted to the dim illumination — she had always preferred low lighting, though whether or not it was due to her Keeper lineage, she couldn’t say. 

The canopied bed was perfectly made, with a plush blanket and an excessive amount of pillows at the headboard. Accompanying them was a stuffed carbuncle, over two fulms tall and incredibly soft to the touch. Seven hells, he had left a bag of her favorite chamomile tea leaves on the bedside table, the scent permeating the expansive bedchambers. 

Her smile held a mixture of elation and regret. The Elezen had remembered so many of the small things that kept her comfortable in the face of despair, down to minute details that not even the Scions knew. It was such a kind act, and absolutely overwhelming.

She couldn’t reciprocate such a thing. Her relationship with the man had, for many moons, tenuously walked the tightrope between close friendship and perhaps something more, and the thought made her chest seize up. Was this just one of his clueless, friendly gestures, or…

No. She would  _ not  _ entertain that thought.

Finally having a brief moment to herself, Myraeda drew back the curtains, gazing out of the massive windows and onto the streets below. The House Haillenarte guards paced through the freshly fallen snow, a couple of them beginning the arduous process of shoveling it away from the entrance. She idly wondered if they found the process futile, considering the locale — an endless cycle of shoveling, snowfall, shoveling once again…

She missed the movement behind her as she stared at House Fortemps across the street, her tail standing on end as she stifled a shriek.

“Miss Palimpos, how are you finding your accommodations?” the familiar blonde Hyur spoke up, her hands resting in front of her roughly hewn skirt.

“Joye! Oh, how long it’s been.” Her arms wrapped around the other woman, her stiff demeanor quickly fading away. “How are the Hounds doing?”

“Hilda has them training their arses off, as usual.” The blonde broke their embrace, giving the Miqo’te a wide smile. “I never would’ve expected you to stay here, and with that…”

“With that utter bastard?” Myraeda softly giggled. The Garlean had made quick work of aggravating the house staff, it seemed.

“Your words, not mine. He refuses to speak to any of us, save for a word or two of assent. If he wasn’t so bloody pretty to look at, he’d have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. But nevermind that…” Joye shook her head, immediately changing the subject after noticing the other woman’s face begin to flush. “I came to ask if you wished to have a bath drawn.”

Myraeda smiled at the thought. Her muscles craved the warm water and the utter relaxation that it would bring. She probably smelled gods awful after the trip, with only buckets of water and the occasional spring to wash the grime off of her skin. Thank the Twelve that she hadn’t immediately flopped on the bed upon entering the room…

“That sounds absolutely divine. Could you show me the way there? I’ve yet to explore the house proper…”

Down the hallway they went, passing several doors that all seemed to be identical, until they finally reached the washroom entrance. She would have to commit the location to memory. Barging in on someone sleeping, or even worse, was the last thing she wanted to do as a newly arrived guest. Hopefully Zenos would also take the same care, lest they be thrown out the door and into the snow. The Haillenartes’ generosity could only go so far, after all.

After a few more minutes, she was once again left to her own devices. The washroom, too, was unsurprisingly rather spacious. A mirror, bordered in an intricate gold frame, was mounted on the back wall, reflecting her lithe form back at her. Slowly, Myraeda approached it, her gaze set on the tiled floor until she finally stopped.

She cringed. Had everyone seen her so disheveled, her clothing stained with dirt and grime, her hair utterly greasy from the journey? How had no one said anything to her? Ishgardian propriety? Not even Zenos had commented, but he had honestly come out of the trek having suffered a similar fate. Her attire couldn’t be saved at this point, and neither could his.

As if her prayers were answered, an outfit had been set aside on the counter for her, the oversized knitted top dyed a deep red. The black pants were soft, loose, and trimmed with gold thread, with a drawstring to keep them in place. Beside the folded set lay a second, identical one, though the sizing was far larger. Two towels, crimson in hue, had been placed on a stool beside the sink. The color coordination reminded her of Count Baurendouin’s clothing — did all the great houses have to color match everything?

With a pleased hum, the Miqo’te stripped, throwing the outfit into a wicker basket halfway across the room. Her skin prickled in the chill, even the washroom unable to escape the frozen climate of Coerthas. She rushed to the steaming tub filled with bubbles, almost running across the floor, the promised heat enticing her as if an insect to a lamp.

Finally, finally… The water offered such  _ bliss _ . She closed her eyes and dipped her head underneath the surface, reveling in the feeling of being enveloped by such warmth and wetness. In times like these, Myraeda was thankful for her Kojin’s Blessing, able to breath in the water as if it were air, allowing her to be submerged for as long as she wished. She spent several minutes doing just that, her troubled thoughts slowly flowing away...

She heard a muffled noise from above. Did she forget to lock the door? Had Joye returned to bring some forgotten soaps or shampoos? No, that didn’t seem right… Everything had seemed to be in place before she stepped into the tub. 

Her ears broke the surface first, moving this way and that to determine the source of the sound. Nothing. Perhaps it had just been her imagination? She rose just barely above the bubbles, opening her eyes to…

“ _ What the fuck are you doing?! _ ” the Miqo’te almost screamed, just barely managing to hush herself when she recalled where she was.

“Exactly what it appears to be. I have come to bathe,” Zenos said, his tone nonchalant. He had already thrown off his haori, his bare chest slick with grease.

“Could you not have waited half a bell?” She was absolutely exasperated. Did this man not know what boundaries were?

“Mmm… No.” He had already begun to remove his pants, the fabric sliding halfway down his rear.

_ Nay, he doesn’t. How surprising. _

Myra couldn’t help but avert her gaze. It didn’t particularly make sense to — she had seen, had  _ felt _ his nude form not so long ago. Even so, it was too awkward of a situation for her. She sunk into the water until only her eyes and ears were above the surface. Would she ever have a moment of peace around this man?

_ There was peace in the afterglow. Don’t you remember? _

Her face burned hotter than the bath water at the thought. Dipping below the surface again, she laid her head on the bottom of the tub, gradually working herself through deep breathing exercises. How was she going to handle his sudden appearance? She refused to let him join her — other than the obvious embarrassment, there simply wouldn’t be any  _ room _ . The Garlean would just have to be patient, and she was content with making him wait quite a while.

In, out, in, out… The Miqo’te was getting sleepy, the two weeks of travel finally catching up with her. She could fall asleep here and now, the warmth helping her drift away…

A hand clamped down on her arm, pulling her halfway out of the water. She blinked a few times, confused and shivering in the cold. “What are…”

“Are you attempting to drown yourself? An impressive effort, but a rather foolish one. Is my very presence here that distressing?” His teasing smirk held a hint of concern. How had she managed such a feat without desperately gasping for air?

“Let me relax, you arse!” She tried to wiggle out of his grip to no avail. After a few moments, she switched to a different strategy, splashing bubbly water at him with a couple of swift kicks.

“Your childish antics will not phase me, Myraeda.” The bubbles had stuck to his skin, scattered about the taut muscles of his stomach. “Tell me exactly how you did that.”

“Did what— Oh!” She blinked in realization, stilling her movements. Of course he wouldn’t know. “When I traveled across the Ruby Sea, the Blue Kojin granted us this blessing. I’m able to stay underneath the water for as long as I so wish.”

Zenos slowly lowered her back into the tub, raising an eyebrow at her. “Quite a useful skill. I will keep it in mind.” One that even he did not have. Perhaps there was a way to…

“Are you going to continue staring at me, or will you finally grab a stool and  _ wait? _ ” Her patience was beginning to wear thin. She snatched a bottle of shampoo and continuously shoved it into his bare thigh, every push more violent than the last.

He had evidently rid himself of the rest of his garb as she had hidden under the bubbles, leaving nothing to the imagination. The Miqo’te‘s eyes wandered upward, settling on that part of him she had yet to study in detail. A thin trail of blond hair led from his navel to his nethers, ending in a trimmed bush just above his length. Even flaccid, he was larger than anyone she had ever had the chance to see (though truthfully, that list was rather small). And erect…?

A flash of her sucking on the head of his cock intruded her mind. She shook her head furiously, as if to erase the image from her brain.

_ Not now, not now! _

“Enjoying the view?” The Garlean gave her a bestial grin. “Perhaps I will wait  _ right here.” _

“Go. Sit. DOWN!” Myraeda grabbed a bar of soap and aimed it at his head.

He effortlessly snatched it out of the air and placed it back on the table. While a significant part of him wished to push her further, whatever new reaction he’d force out of her would likely alert the entirety of House Haillenarte, and all of Ishgard besides.

“If you insist.”

She watched as he practically sauntered across the room, haphazardly throwing the towels off of the stool before returning. He roughly set it down, the sound of metal on tile echoing throughout the room. The noise made her cringe — why did he have to be so godsdamned careless?

Begrudgingly accepting the fact that he planned on sitting  _ right next to the tub _ , she ignored him as she began to lather shampoo through her cropped locks. It was such a refreshing feeling after so very long. While she was accustomed to long journeys, she had never quite gotten used to the feeling of grease and dirt being caked behind her ears and on her scalp. She’d honestly rather have the rest of her body covered in mud.

The process was quick and easy, as was massaging the conditioner into her hair. She had almost forgotten he was there until she had begun to soap herself down, the Garlean watching with curiosity when she passed the washcloth over her chest and underneath her breasts.

“Enjoying the view?” she repeated back, attempting to match his earlier tone. “Is that why you came here, to watch a perverse show? I didn’t think you the type. Though, you  _ are _ full of surprises as of late...”

“Turn around,” Zenos suddenly ordered, giving her an inscrutable expression. “And hand me the washcloth.”

“Huh…?” The Miqo’te cocked her head, giving the man a puzzled look before following his instructions. What was his aim? He wasn’t planning on—

He began to roughly scrub the nape of her neck, making small, circular motions as he worked the washcloth along her shoulders. There was no delicacy to it — her back was turning pink with the effort — but, without question, it was effective. 

After a time, he finally reached the base of her spine and the beginning of her tail, staring at the appendage as it moved to and fro through the water. With a smug smile, he massaged the junction with the cloth. After all, that spot  _ must _ be difficult for her to reach on her own. A poor excuse, truly, but he didn’t particularly care to explain himself anyway.

Not that he could even if he wanted to.

She instinctively raised her lower half out of the water, pushing into his touch. A low, deep purr fluttered in her throat, her mind going blank until the warmth of the water and the sensitive sensation were all that remained. A few moments passed like this, her head dipping below the bubbles and into the water.

On impulse, the Garlean seized the opportunity to dip his fingers underneath her tail, lazily drawing them downward until they were between her folds. A curious digit slipped inside, the side of his thumb resting on her nub.

Myraeda practically jumped into the air, scrambling to the other end of the tub. “What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing, Zenos?!”

“Something long overdue.” His eyes flashed with need as they scoured what was visible of her. He was little more than a predator closing in on his prey, ready to pounce. Two weeks had been  _ far _ too long, even with his capacity for patience. He had, at long last, found another high to chase, another experience to drown in the intense  _ feeling  _ that the rest of his life seemed to lack — and this one happened to be much easier to obtain.

She splashed water in his face, her teeth bared and ears flattened. “This is  _ not _ the time nor place. With how loud you were the first time, your voice will echo off the walls and down the hallway. Is that what you wish for? House Haillenarte staff finding us in a compromising position? By the Twelve, if the  _ Count  _ saw us…”

Her mind raced, the implications of discovery terrifying her. Breath quickening, her hands gripped the sides of the tub, her knuckles quickly turning red.

Brushing the bubbles from his cheeks, he scooted the stool closer to her. “ _ Relax, _ ” he purred, taking hold of her jaw and forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Your point has been made. I will grant you one more night of reprieve, but only just. You will have me in your chambers tomorrow, when the rest of the household has retired, and then we shall discuss the details of our... _ liaison _ .”

The Miqo’te audibly gulped, but nodded back. “That would be...agreeable.” She averted her eyes, finding something, anything, to change the subject. “You smell like a wet cur. I believe it’s time for us to switch out.”

She shrugged off his hand, stepping out on the opposite side. “And…to aid you in the wait…” Her voice trailed off as she considered. “I’ll tame your mane and dry it besides.”

And they did just that in relative silence, their pact made and intentions clear, if only for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a VERY long week over here. I live in a major Texas city, and with the winter storms, we didn't have power for two days. Finally I'm warm and we have water, power, and WiFi again! <3 We still have to boil our water, but at least I'm not huddling under blankets in the dark for warmth anymore.
> 
> There may be a possibility in two weeks that I will post the first two chapters of my secret project instead of the next chapter here. If that is the case, the next upload for this story would be 3/11. Between everything I'm feeling a bit burnt out and need a pallet cleanser. The other project is also Zenos/Myra though, so there is that!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cross, star-crossed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081899) by [Ivelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivelia/pseuds/Ivelia)




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